1C13:11
by TeaOli
Summary: Nyota Uhura knows what she wants from the start; Spock takes a little longer. Complete.
1. Ru2:13

_Special thanks to the women of _STCC Writers' Guild_ and _Writers Anonymous_ for all of their help_ — _extra special thanks to _NubianAmazon_ and _SpockLikesCats_ for the titles._

* * *

Their hired hover vehicle slipped through the large gates, and Spock immediately saw why his mother so enjoyed her biennial visits with his father's former colleague. The landscaping within the Uhura compound was reminiscent of that in their own home. Approximately a half kilometer from the cream colored walls, a large house the color of pale ochre sat in a veritable oasis of verdant green surrounded by and interspersed with the desert-like terrain that made up much of Garissa District's natural environment. Yes, this place was very much like the family home on Vulcan.

"Do you remember any of this, Spock?" Amanda's voice broke into his thoughts, but he did not immediately take his eyes away from the view. "You were so little the last time you were here and Benjamin hadn't completed arranging his gardens."

The quiet 12-year-old turned and met dark eyes that were focused on him instead of the designated hover-way. "The grounds I recall were less fertile; however, the structure looks unchanged. Please pay attention to your driving."

She smiled before facing forward again. Clearly, she was pleased with him; he wasn't sure why. After all, only four point two years had passed since they'd last visited the Uhuras. She couldn't possibly have thought he might have forgotten, could she?

.

.

"I hear a hover, Mama!" Nyota's left hand twitched as she patted the dozen or so fancy braids hugging her scalp. She couldn't contain her excitement, but had promised she wouldn't muss her pretty new dress. "It just came through the gates! Is it them, Mama? Are they here already?"

M'Umbha flicked a quick glance at the kitchen chronometer, and frowned. "It's a little early," she said. "Are you sure that's what you heard, binti? I wasn't expecting them for another half hour."

The little girl put on her "serious face," and nodded solemnly. Mama and Baba had stopped laughing when she told them about the things she heard _ages_ ago. Now that she was three and a big girl, they always believed her.

"Yes, Mama. It's floating past Aunty 'Stella's trees right now." She tugged nervously at the free end of one of her neat, dark cornrows.

M'Umbha's eyes widened slightly; her daughter's acute hearing still amazed her at times. The stand of star apple and star fruit trees had been planted in memory of her brother's late fiancée, Estella Libertad. They grew just meters inside the gates.

"Well then," she told Nyota, donning a bright smile, "let's go to greet our guests. They'll be at the front door in minutes!"

.

.

"If we continue at our current rate of speed, we shall be twenty-six point three minutes ahead of schedule, Mother," Spock pointed out as the hover made its way towards the house nestled in a low hill. "Perhaps we should contact Dr. M'Umbha to alert her to our early arrival."

Amanda stole a quick glance at him and bit back another grin at the name he'd been calling her friend since he was tiny. He was staring resolutely through the side window as they slid past the variety of trees and low-growing plants which marked the hover-way. Although he would never admit it, she could tell her son was nervous about seeing their friends again. Under-Ambassador Uhura had been one of the very few members of the Diplomatic Corps to treat him as something more than a curiosity without ignoring him altogether. More than once, she'd suspected he had a little crush on the woman.

"Nonsense, Spock. Look." With her chin — her only child wouldn't appreciate seeing her take her hands off the controls! — she gestured to where M'Umbha stood at the wide front doors, a tiny figure in a crisp lemon-colored dress at her side.

.

.

Nyota's left foot twitched excitedly as the hover gently landed on the stone-paved half-moon in front of her house. She'd never met Lady Amanda in person before, but she'd spoken to the smiling woman a bunch of times on the comm. But now she was actually here, and her son, too!

'Penda and Mu said Spock was the smartest kid ever, but didn't shove it in your face like _some_ people did. Mama said Spock was polite, which meant he was nicer than other big kids. Nyota could hardly wait to meet him. He was going to be her new best friend. Her _first_ best friend. She'd never had one of those before.

The hover doors opened and she watched a person climb out either side. Her whole left side twitched. Lady Amanda was smiling, just like always, but her tall son's mouth was sort of straight. Not smiling. Not frowning.

_That's okay_, Nyota decided. _He'll be happy when he meets _me!

She took a deep breath, stepped forward and dipped into a wobbly curtsy. In her best big-girl voice she said the Vulcan words Mama had taught her, "Welcome back to our home, Lady Amanda and Spock."

Lady Amanda's smile turned into a happy giggle. Nyota's tummy got all fluttery. Then she was swept up in the lady's arms and squeezed. She hugged her favorite off-worlder back, looking over her shoulder at the quiet boy. His mouth was still a straight line.

"She's been practicing that all week," Mama said proudly.

Nyota grinned happily, twitching all over. This was the best day of her _whole_ life!

.

.

They had not removed their luggage from the hover. _Perhaps I can convince Mother to leave it there and seek out a hotel_, Spock thought.

Fifty-seven minutes had passed since their arrival. He and Mother had been given cool drinks and fruit. She and Dr. M'Umbha had spoken briefly of past visits and then taken the young girl upstairs to change out of her dress. They had been exchanging stories about work and child-rearing as they walked away.

As they'd returned, Dr. M'Umbha had been giving Mother the look that adult humans so often used around their children. She'd touched one of her ears and gestured towards her daughter. Nyota had been smiling up at his mother and had not seen.

The young girl talked nearly incessantly. He briefly wondered if she was taking in sufficient oxygen, but her verbal precocity suggested that her brain functions were operating sufficiently to eliminate any doubt of her intake.

Of the twenty-three point four minutes that had passed since their mothers had chased them from the house with a "_Why don't you show Spock your garden, Ennie_?" she'd been silent a total of five point two minutes. He'd barely had time to answer one of her surprisingly intelligent questions about his home planet before she'd launched into another one.

The onslaught had begun when they'd been six meters down the garden path. Her small hand had found his and she'd declared that he was her 'first best friend." Upenda and Muta, her older siblings, were busy with their Betazoid lessons — the sister would begin spending a month on the planet each year starting the following year; the brother would most likely follow two years after that — but, she'd confessed, they rarely allowed her to play with them, anyway.

"But, now I've got _you_, Spocky!" she'd told him. He'd gritted his teeth at the nickname. "And you have me. So you can smile, now."

The words had continued, almost without a moment's break, from there.

She was still speaking. Right in his ear, since she'd insisted he give her a "piggyback ride" once she'd grown tired of darting around her small patch of garden, pointing out various plants and asking if anything of the like grew on Vulcan.

"How come you're so quiet, Spocky? Are you sad or something? Do you miss your daddy?" she asked after a pause of less than ten point two seconds. "Sometimes Baba goes on trips and I miss him a lot. That makes me sad."

"I do not miss my father," he murmured too quietly for her to hear, "but I am beginning to understand why your siblings avoid your company."

He felt her little body stiffen against his back and then warm liquid dripped onto his neck. Her mother's words came back to him. _This child's ears! She heard your hover come through the gates!_ Obviously, he had underestimated the aural sensitivity of the small human he carried.

He had made the child cry. _Perhaps_, he thought, _I should not have spoken in Standard_.

She didn't howl or sob in the manner of the other human children he had observed. Instead, Nyota clung to his back, tears silently dripping from her eyes. Her rigid torso didn't shudder or quake. For the first time in his life, Spock understood what Sam Grayson, his human uncle, meant the time he'd said "I felt like a shit."

Abruptly, he stopped walking and glanced over his shoulder to assess the damage.

"Nyota," he said, not knowing what should come next. A memory of his own mother comforting him when he was even younger than the girl came back to him. "Do not cry, Nyota. Please."

Despite her visible efforts — rapid eye-blinking, deep breaths that made her shoulders shake — the tears didn't abate.

Sinking down underneath an _Acacia tortilis_, he helped his charge slide to ground before turning to face her fully.

She lifted wide brown eyes to stare at him. They filled and then spilled over. She blinked and they welled up once more. He placed a hand on her narrow shoulder.

"Please do not cry, Nyota," he tried again. "I will tell you a story if you can be quiet."

Hiccupping, she wiped a bare arm across her eyes, which filled more slowly this time.

"In Vulcan?" she asked in a quiet, shaky voice.

Spock forbore pointing out her comprehension of his native language was insufficient to make it useful in the endeavor. He didn't want to make her cry even more. "In Vulcan," he agreed.

.

.

In the fifteen minutes that had passed since he'd begun telling her the story of a boy in the desert with his sehlat, she'd only had two questions. He'd been so surprised to learn she understood enough of his language to ask the names of the boy and the sehlat, he had answered truthfully, rather than tell her that the names were unimportant.

He enjoyed her company much more now that she was not talking. Her unexpected intellect was intriguing when he was not getting bombarded with evidence of its existence.

Gently shifting her weight to one arm, he opened the kitchen door as quietly as he could manage and stepped through. He put a finger to his lips when the mothers looked over at them. Slowly turning (and missing the amused look M'Umbha and Amanda shared), he closed the door equally quietly.

She stirred anyway.

Lifting her head from his shoulder, she addressed the mothers sleepily. "I'm going to marry Spocky when I grow up."

* * *

**A/N:** See Nyota Uhura and S'chn T'gai Spock grow up. See them become friends. See more.

**Warning:** Starts off very K, but eventually flirts with M.

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, any Star Trek characters or any Star Trek concepts. I also don't get paid for writing about any of those.


	2. Prv22:6

Her little face scrunched up in concentration, Nyota traced lazy figures where sunlight touched the smooth dark wood of Mama's kitchen table. She couldn't stop a huge yawn from stretching her mouth into a wide O. Then she was pulled back into a soft embrace, her legs spun to the side while a sweet voice murmured sweeter words into her ear. Things like "pretty baby" and "darling."

"I'm _not_ a baby anymore, Ceegee. And I'm not pretty, either. I'm four and regular-looking."

Mama and Cousin Getta laughed at that.

"That is because you look in the mirror using only your eyes, Ennie," Ceegee said as she twined one of the braids sprouting from Nyota's large head around her finger. "You must learn to look _inside_ using all of you."

She and Mama got that look that grown-ups get when they think a kid is too young to understand, then went back to talking in Betazoid.

Lifting her sleepy head from her cousin's chest, Nyota twisted back around in the Betazoid woman's lap. _Ceegee always wore the softest clothes and her squishy parts were perfect for napping_. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to let Cousin Getta's voice — even softer than her dress! — or that thing she was doing with her mind that felt like "_sleep, Nyota,_" win.

Nyota wasn't ready to sleep. If she concentrated hard enough, she could understand some of the words. And what she heard meant she _couldn't_ sleep. Not while Mama and Cousin Getta were talking about _her_.

Getta Haresta gave the little girl in her arms a gentle squeeze.

"I do not believe we can afford to wait, Cousin," she said aloud. "If Nyota were one of ours she would already be in treatment." She shrugged, accepting what she could not change, and focused on moving forward. "We should start by teaching her to speak the language, since that seems to be where her strengths will lie."

Nyota stiffened, her finger frozen mid-pattern. She set her jaw and begged the Betazoid words to come. They didn't listen.

"But I am learning Vulcan!" she protested in that language, instead. "For when I marry Spock."

Mama's face looked a little surprised, but not upset like it did when Muta played Baba's djembe before the sun came up, or the time Upenda had hidden an orphaned cheetah cub with a broken leg in her garden. _But, I already _told _Mama I'm marrying Spocky_.

"You understand, binti?" she wanted to know. She must have thought the answer was "yes" because she was still speaking Ceegee's language..

"A little," was all Nyota could manage in Betazoid. Switching to Kiswahili, she continued, "but I can't make the words come. Not like with Standard and Vulcan and French an—" She broke off when she felt a sob forming in the back of her throat. Ceegee wouldn't believe she was a big girl if she started crying over _words_.

But Ceegee did that thing with her mind again, and this time it felt like being wrapped in a hug from Mama and Baba and 'Penda and Mu (not that _they _liked hugging her all that much) and Spocky and Ko-mekh and Ceegee all at the same time.

"Do you see, Cousin?" she asked Mama once Nyota was smiling and snuggled up against her squishy parts again. "I'll do what I can for her now, but then you must bring her to us as soon as it can be arranged."

Physically, M'Umbha's youngest child was small for her age — unusual among Wakufunzis, but understandable considering her father was an Uhura — but mentally and intellectually she was far ahead of the average human. Emotionally, Getta noted as Nyota fought sleep, she was probably right on target. _I hope that will not prove problematic_, she thought.

.

.

It hadn't taken long to coax Ennie to use the lavatory before settling her to sleep after Getta projected enough love and affection to bring a Vulcan to his knees. One young Vulcan in particular came to mind, and M'Umbha smiled to herself as she smoothed the light blanket and patted her daughter's knobby knees one last time.

She rose from her knees, crossed the small room and opened the verandah curtains, allowing in a sliver of light while keeping out the heat. Nyota would never admit it now that she was a "big girl," but the child was not fond of any darkness other than the night sky. She smiled again before heading back down the stairs.

Fears and doubts were already chipping away at her good humor by the time she reached the kitchen. One look at Getta told her the Betazoid wasn't in much better shape.

"Who.. ?" Nyota's mother let the question trail off, knowing her companion would understand even without using her telepathy.

"I don't know." Getta's own disappointment and concern were mirrored on the human woman's face. "Miran Helso would have been ideal; she has experience with such cases, but…"

Like her distant relative, Getta did not need to complete the thought. Her human ancestor might have been nearly as far removed as M'Umbha's Betazoid ancestress — the connection ancient enough to be considered irrelevant — but both women were bint Wakufunzi, and some matters should not be discussed in the presence of the uninitiated.

"But she is destined for other things," her cousin finished for her.

"Yes. As is our Little Star."

* * *

"Mother."

Amanda looked over from her wall-facing desk to see her son standing in the doorway to her study. In just the equivalent of five Terran months, he'd become so much better at hiding what he was feeling. But she was his mother and knew that his carefully composed face hid a pensiveness he would be embarrassed to know she sensed. She smiled broadly as if nothing was wrong.

"Come in, Spock." She waved a hand towards the chair next to the desk and waited, still smiling, while he sat. "What do you need?"

His ears greened a bit, but he gave no other hint of his discomfort. "We are to visit your family in seven Terran months," he stated and she waited for him to say more. Stating the obvious wasn't the Vulcan way. After a long pause, during which the muscles of her face started to stiffen, her young son spoke again. "Did you plan to visit the Uhuras again at that time?"

Amanda felt her smile grow even as Spock's ears turned a brighter green. "Well, no, I haven't made any definite plans; although M'Umbha and Benjamin assured me that we are always welcome… Would you _like_ for us to go there? They truly enjoyed our last visit."

"Dr. Uhura informed me that he has several interesting new editions to his garden; I would like to study those. And last year Dr. M'Umbha — Dr. Wakufunzi published a paper on Rigelian phonemes. I have not been able to adequately discuss it with her during our bi-monthly communications."

A heaviness settled into the pit of Spock's stomach when his mother's smile broadened even further at the mention of "Dr. M'Umbha." Although she did not say so, he knew Amanda still believed that his continued use of the nickname was a sign that he had a "crush" on the human woman. He did not. _I must always refer to her by her official title when speak to Mother,_ he admonished himself.

"Nyota will be happy to see you, as well," his mother said in what he knew would be considered a sly voice among humans.

"Yes," he said, refusing to grimace at the mention of the girl who had become so attached to him, "she has indicated as much."

* * *

The learning came easily, and was often fun — even 'Penda and Mu didn't exclude her during lessons — but today, Nyota was eager to leave the sunny third-floor classroom where the three young Uhuras took their lessons in Betazoid.

She didn't mean to fidget, but knowing Axin Loures would sense that her mind was elsewhere anyway, Nyota didn't bother trying to keep her left foot from tapping out an eager tattoo upon the cool floor tiles.

Upenda glanced at her baby sister and smiled. "Ennie's boyfriend arrives today," she told their instructor, using the Betazoid word for future genetic mate. "She probably wants to go put on her best dress."

"Spock is not my _boy_friend," Nyota corrected in Standard. She glared at 'Penda.

"Not yet," Muta chimed in without looking up from the PADD displaying the score of the third movement of a 21st Century symphony, instead of the Betazoid verbs he was supposed to be studying.

"He's my _best_ friend," his sibling continued as if he hadn't spoken. She looked up at Axin with shining eyes. "I haven't seen him in two whole years!"

"But I don't need to wear a dress," she added, flushing. "Spocky says it is illogical to change one's garments purely for ceremonial reasons which have little to no meaning to the person for whom one is performing the ceremony."

The young Betazoid smiled at his charges as the older Uhuras looked at each and rolled their eyes. To better assess their progress and readiness to learn, he kept his shields down whenever he was with them. Teaching the Uhura children was always either torture or a treat; there was no middle ground. Right now, they were delightful. Their affection for one another, in spite of the teasing, suffused the classroom. All three happily anticipated the arrival of their guests; they were even more eager for the reunion between the little one and her Vulcan.

"All right," he told them, "I suppose for such an occasion—" Nyota was up out of her chair and standing at attention before he even finished speaking "we can conclude today's lesson a little early. Dismissed."

He stood, alone in the classroom and still smiling, long after the pounding of three sets of small feet had faded.

.

.

Spock emerged from the hover vehicle and onto the Uhuras' pink forecourt less than a second behind his mother. He glanced up at the dark brown doors leading into the ochre-colored house to see a small girl hurtling towards him with an awkward, ungainly gait while clutching a small data oblong, oblivious of her own mother's call for caution.

"Spocky!" Nyota shouted happily. "_Spock_!"

In her excitement, the little girl's feet hit the stones without any discernable rhythm. Too late, he held up a hand to urge her to slow down. As he watched, his young friend stepped on her own foot and her body lurched forward, nearly parallel to the ground.

She landed with an audible thud.

Dr. M'Umbha's hands flew to her face.

Amanda winced.

Spock stilled.

Three seconds passed before anyone moved.

"Binti!" Dr. M'Umbha rushed forward, with considerably more grace than her daughter had done.

The visitors waited for the inevitable tears and sobbing.

All three were relieved to see the child push herself to her knees and look around, blinking. Spock could see unshed tears glistening in her eyes, but she bit her lip, breathed deeply and seemed to will herself to be calm.

Her mother arrived at her side and, without speaking, reached out. For a moment, Nyota simply stared at Dr. M'Umbha's hand. Then, grasping it, she allowed herself to be assisted to her feet.

Amanda smiled.

Spock resumed walking towards mother and child.

Nyota offered him a tremulous smile.

.

.

Spock was sitting at his desk, absorbed in Dr. M'Umbha's paper when a soft knock against his open door told him he had company. _Nyota_, he thought.

"You were not severely injured?" he asked as he spun around in his chair.

Nyota shook her head as she gingerly walked across the room. She silently handed over the data oblong that was still clutched in her little hand.

"I was excited," she explained earnestly as he slipped the oblong into the computer. "I wanted to talk to you in Vulcan and Betazoid and show you my marks."

Spock looked up from the school report he'd already memorized and studied her intently.

"I wanted you to be proud of me," she added in an even softer voice.

"It is true that we value intellectual acumen," he said in Standard, "but you must not live so far inside your mind that you are unaware of what is around you, and of your relationship to those surroundings. Do you understand, Nyota?"

She nodded again, her eyes once more filled with tears.

"Grace," she whispered. "I don't have any."

Unconsciously, he tilted his head to side as he considered her declaration. "I would have chosen to say 'adequate coordination,' but 'grace' is a sufficient substitution."

She turned and, her strides almost fluid, left his room.

Spock turned back to the computer, closed Nyota's academic report, and returned to reading Dr. M'Umbha's paper on Rigelian phonemes.

.

.

He hadn't meant to listen. He hadn't even intended to be on the second floor verandah at that time. But he needed his notes if he wanted to have as detailed a conversation with Dr. M'Umbha — Dr. _Wakufunzi_ — as he'd intended. And taking the outside path was the quickest route to his destination.

Nyota's "bedtime" had been announced two hours and forty-seven minutes earlier — more than an hour before Upenda and Muta were also ordered to retire — he had expected her to be sleeping.

Few humans would have heard Nyota's soft voice. Few human ears would have been able to intrude on the little girl's privacy.

The murmured words had drawn his gaze towards the open door. She lay back against the pillows on her bed. Her room was dark, but the holograph she held emitted a soft glow.

"…just like you, Uncle 'Bansi," she'd been sobbing. "Just like you and Auntie Stella. And when I'm up there, I'll run and walk and…" another nearly inaudible sob interrupted her words. "When I'm up there with the stars, I won't _ever_ fall down!"

Spock had continued towards his own room, but Nyota's words — and the tears that had clogged her normally clear voice — echoed in his mind long after he had rejoined the adults.

.

.

Amanda was already in bed, but not yet sleeping when she heard the light tapping on her verandah door. Only person would visit her at this time of night.

"Come in," she told her son.

Spock pushed though the curtains, then stood facing her bed, his hands behind his back .

"Mother, I would like to pose a query."

She gestured for him to take a seat in the chair beside her bed, but Spock on shook his head and spoke again from where he stood.

"On my way to retrieve the notes on Dr. Wakufunzi's paper, I passed by Nyota's sleeping chamber. She was crying and speaking to a holograph of her Uncle Tabansi. Explain this, please."

Amanda put down the PADD she'd been reading and regarded her son seriously. "Oh, Spock," she said. "What did you do _this_ time?"

.

.

His mother's words came back to him as he waited outside the Uhuras' third-floor classroom the next afternoon.

"_You hurt her feelings, Spock. What you said was equivalent to saying that she is clumsy and awkward."_

_She'd interrupted his protest before he'd been able to say more than, "But, Mother, she _is_—" _

"_It doesn't matter how uncoordinated she is," Amanda had said in that gentle tone she adopted whenever she needed to explain a particularly complex human tendency or proclivity, "you didn't have to remind her of it. You could have offered her sympathy, instead."_

"_I merely wished to help her avoid future injury," he'd said — almost sulkily, he was ashamed to recall. _

"_There are better ways," Mother had said and he'd caught the disappointment in her tone. "It's too late to change what you've done, but you can still make amends."_

"_How so?"_

_His mother had looked grave, but she hadn't been entirely successful in suppressing the same sly look she'd last used when informing that Nyota would be pleased to see him._

"_You'll have to do something extraordinary, my son." Her lips had twitched then. "Don't worry; what a 5-year-old human girl considers 'extraordinary' shouldn't be beyond your abilities."_

"_As you have occasionally informed me, Nyota is not an ordinary 5-year-old human."_

"_Fortunately for you, one of her extraordinary qualities is a remarkable capacity for forgiving."_

He wasn't certain that his mother had been correct.

Upenda and Muta had been lively breakfast companions; Nyota had barely looked up from her oatmeal and fruit.

The classroom door opened and he straightened his back as the Uhura children walked out.

He nodded at Upenda and Muta (and missed their suspicious looks_ — _he'd made their little sister cry, again!_ —_ they shot at his back) before stepping into their younger sibling's path.

"Nyota," he addressed her in Vulcan, dropping his head to meet the little girl's gaze, "it occurs to me that I did not fully convey to you the process you will need to understand in order to move more steadily.

"I said that you must be aware of the relationship between your body and your environment, but I neglected to mention that it is possible to be _too_ aware. As with all things, there is a balance to be found. Will you allow me to demonstrate?"

The change in her demeanor was instantaneous. Her eyes widened. Her lips spread and curved up.

Suddenly, she reached around and grabbed one of the hands he'd clasped behind his back. Her eyes shone with something other than tears as she stared up at him.

"Yes, please, savensu," she replied. "I would like to learn."

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks to Nubian Amazon and SpockLikesCats for naming the Betazoid teacher, and helping Spock make things right with Nyota_._

This chapter hints at revelations made in chapters 21 — 23 of Once and Future; however, this story is unrelated to that one._  
_

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, any Star Trek characters or any Star Trek concepts. I also don't get paid for writing about any of those.


	3. Prv4:1—15

"Tell him what the Tellarite ambassador said _then_, Uncle 'Bansi!"

Nyota darted in between and around her mother's brother and Spock as the two headed away from the practice field and toward the stand of olive trees set beyond the last of the Benjamin Uhura's ornamental and experimental gardens. She got to see her favorite uncle a lot more than she saw her favorite Vulcan, but that still wasn't enough, and she didn't want to give up any time with either of them.

The only solution, she'd decided, was to make them spend time together. And asking them both to supervise her athletic training this morning had been logical: two years ago, Spock had devised the series of exercises that already made her so much less clumsy; Uncle 'Bansi was in Starfleet and knew what she needed to know to get in the Academy.

They'd watched her go through the obstacle course — a trainer from Baba's university changed it every week — and offered pointers during her routine on the balance beam. The running, they'd all agreed, could wait until a little later.

For now, Uncle 'Bansi was telling Spocky about Starfleet, and Nyota wanted to make sure he got it right.

"_Just like you and Auntie 'Stella_." She hadn't forgotten her promise.

Starfleet Academy wasn't the Vulcan Science Academy where Spock was going to go, but she needed her best friend to be proud of her when she got in, anyway.

"_Pride is a human emotion_," Spock had admonished once.

She brushed that memory aside to interrupt the story again. "Tell him how he couldn't even agree about the color of the _chair_, Mjomba! And how you fixed it even better than the Corps people could!"

"Who is telling this story, mpwa? Nyota ndogo, or mjomba kubwa?" Her "big uncle's" eyes sparkled happily as he delivered the reproof, but his "little Star" knew he was serious. It was time to stop talking.

"Uncle 'Bansi has the _best_ job in the universe," she couldn't resist adding with a glance up at Spock as she quickly, but gracefully, circled the half-Vulcan. "_And_ he tells the best stories."

She winked at her uncle, then darted ahead of her companions, only to abruptly pivot for a return jog when she was about ten meters away. Her strides were smooth and careful, her speed impressive.

"You gait has improved significantly," Spock observed as she reached them.

The little girl beamed at the praise she heard behind the words.

"I practice like that every day," she announced, jabbing her thumb towards the training course and, in spite of her best efforts, failing to hide the note of pride in her tone. "And Mama still makes me go to the lessons you sent for my birthday." Hopping down the path on one leg while managing to keep pace with her uncle and friend, Nyota wrinkled her nose at the thought of the weekly classes with children her age who were all taller than she was. "There's a whole month left," she added dejectedly before switching feet.

"Ballet training has been good for building up your strength and balance," Spock pointed out.

Nyota opened her mouth to tell him it was the _other children_ she didn't like, but Uncle 'Bansi cleared his throat right then.

Now walking on both feet, Nyota looked up, up, up at her tall uncle and smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry, Mjomba. I'll be quiet so you can finish your story," she promised, taking both his and Spock's hand — she was secretly proud of herself for teaching her best friend not to pull away — in each of hers. "Make sure you tell Spocky about the Tellarite, though, okay?"

Uncle 'Bansi squeezed her right hand and made a funny sound that she knew meant he was trying not to laugh.

Spock tugged at her other hand. She looked up to see his eyes were nearly as sparkly as her mjomba's.

"Perhaps," he said, "you should return to the practice field and complete the balance of your exercises before the day grows any hotter."

She didn't even bother to block it when Spocky let a trickle of his amusement — another accomplishment! — flow through his fingers to hers (her mentor on Betazed wouldn't approve, but she was pretty sure Uncle Tabansi wouldn't tell on her). Still, she knew his "suggestion" was meant to be an order. If she refused, her mjomba would only make it official.

She dropped both of their hands and turned back. "Oookaaay," she replied over her shoulder, dragging her feet as she dragged out the word.

"Running only, mpwa," her uncle called after her. "Stay off the beam and out of the course." And then he went back to telling Spock how wonderful his Starfleet career was.

.

.

It took less than twenty minutes to finish her circuit, but the sun was already much higher in the sky by the time Nyota made her way into her own garden of low-growing plants and hurried over to the pool to the right of the entrance.

She toed off her shoes and stripped away her socks, rolling and arching her feet before she stepped into the ankle-deep water. As much as she wanted to return to her hero's side, she needed to cool off even more.

Footsteps pounding out an unfamiliar cadence along the main path caught her attention. She could identify everyone on the compound by the sound of their walk. This was a stranger coming.

She raised a hand to her forehead to shield her eyes. Squinting through the sunlight, she watched as the tall figure moved closer. Something about the way the man moved was familiar to her. Like someone she'd seen in a holovid…

"_Sa-mekh_?" she called out in Vulcan, as Sarek came into view. "What are you doing here?"

.

.

Sarek stared down at the undersized African human. She stood in a small pool, holding a pair of athletic shoes in one hand. A pair of thick socks hung from the waistband of loose grey shorts dusted with red earth.

_So_, he thought, _this is the girl_.

He did not allow the sense of disapproval that slid through his mind whenever he thought of her show in his facial expression. There was no logical reason _not_ to approve of her, he knew, yet what he'd heard T'Pau tell his son just before Spock and Amanda had left Vulcan — _"It appears that is she very intelligent for a human child. I might endeavor to meet her someday"_ — had left him uneasy enough to move up his trip to Earth by a standard week.

"You must be Nyota," he said in the same language. "I am looking for my son. My wife said that he and your uncle were observing your physical training."

"We finished that almost thirty minutes ago, but Uncle Tabansi and Spock decided I should finish my running before the day grew too hot," she told him, indicating the running shoes. "Spock is to give me a mathematics lesson when I am finished. They are waiting for me in the olive stand."

Sarek looked in the direction she pointed. The tops of the olive trees were visible beyond several different gardens. He judged the grove to be approximately point five seven kilometers away. It would be unwise for the human child walk so far in this heat.

"I would have returned to them right away, but I wanted to cool off first." She glanced down at her feet in the water.

The Vulcan studied her flushed face with its light sheen of perspiration, then bent and lifted her into his arms. "I will take you back to your mother's house. Your body temperature will lower more efficiently there."

He had already resumed his forward progression when she began to protest. "But, Sa-mekh, I must go back to Spock. And I am too big to be carried like an infant!"

The flash was brief, but intense. Almost as astonishing as the force of her emotion when she had spoken his son's name was the strength and ease with which she had erected her mental and emotional walls immediately after.

_The annual trips to Betazed have a purpose apart from visiting distant relatives_, he realized. _Is _this_ why T'Pau so often speaks with Spock about the child_?

He did not have an answer to the question, but now there was a more important matter to be dealt with.

Many sentient beings deduced that because the vast majority of Vulcans declined to express their emotions they were a race without feelings — or, at the very least, a race that did not understand the emotions they worked so hard to repress. This was an inaccurate assumption.

In order to successfully suppress one's feelings without damaging the psyche, one had to understand what one was attempting to control.

He understood, from his glimpse of what the human child was feeling and from what he had heard while on Vulcan, that she could pose a threat to his son's future.

Sarek spared a glance at the small child he carried in order to assess her belief in an obviously incorrect declaration. She was too heavily shielded for him to sense whether she be deliberately misrepresented the facts.

He knew her to be seven years old, but she was far smaller than most humans her age. Still, he refrained from pointing this out. His years married to a human female had been sufficient for him to learn many important lessons about interacting with that half of the species; among the most important of those was the commandment Amanda called "Thou shalt not make negative comments on a human female's weight."

The adult females, data showed, preferred to be referred to by words synonymous with "small"; conversely, very young females, he had also noted, desired to be considered bigger than they were. The phenomenon was perplexing, but as his interest in the workings of the female human mind was limited to understanding only his wife and the occasional Earth diplomat or politician, he had not attempted to solve the puzzle.

Instead of responding to the child, he continued towards the Uhura house, lengthening his strides.

He was pleased to know that his early arrival on the planet had not been without merit. Spock's future might depend on his intervention.

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, any Star Trek characters or any Star Trek concepts. I also don't get paid for writing about any of those.


	4. Col3:21

_Extra special thanks to_ NewChapter _and_ NubianAmazon_ for listening late into the nights._

* * *

Nearly everywhere on the planet Vulcan was hot by human standards; however, the atmosphere of Ambassador Sarek's study in the S'chn T'gai family home was considerably hotter than average ambient temperatures.

There was much he wanted to say, but little he could claim as irrefutable truth. What "evidence" he had already uncovered would — and, rightfully so — be considered nothing more than conjecture at this point. And he was unsure whether his wife would see proof of the thing he _did_ know as reason to agree with him, or as a sign that Spock should continue along the path along which she had inadvertently set him.

"Sarek, she's a little girl!" Amanda exclaimed in exasperation. "What harm do you honestly think can she do?"

"If you truly believed she had so little influence over our son, you would not insist that she be allowed to see him."

"If by 'influence' you mean that she reminds him that it's okay to be a little human sometimes, then yes, she influences him. When he's with her I get a chance to see a little bit of myself in my son!"

"And what of the girl? Can you so easily dismiss her attachment to our son?" He did not emphasize the word "our," but she winced anyway. The question hinted more closely at the truth that was possibly wise, but his wife felt a real affection for the girl and he had few other supportive arguments for his line of reasoning. Few, in any case, that he was willing to use. _Perhaps_, he thought, _she will be distracted by her concern for the child's welfare_.

"Oh, for Pete's sake! She'll be nine years old in a couple of months. She'll 'fall in love' and out again a score of times before she grows up. That's what little human girls do!"

_Perhaps not_. Under other circumstances, Sarek might have gently teased his wife about her new-found ostensible lack of faith in human loyalty. At the moment, this seeming reversal of her generally-held views on the subject was making his effort to convince her of the wisdom inherent to his line of reasoning difficult.

"It has been five years, eight months and three days since she declared her intentions, adun'a. She has yet to show any sign of 'falling out of love' with him."

.

Amanda wasn't sure how to respond. Truth be told, she wasn't sure she _ever_ wanted Nyota Uhura to stop loving Spock. From her fierce hunger for knowledge for knowledge's sake to her sometimes disturbingly adult observations, the young girl was odd by anyone's standards. But when Amanda's son was with her, something of the very little boy he had once been always came out. As selfish as she knew the sentiment might appear, she relished every moment of the boy he was then. Besides, soon enough, a human boy would catch Nyota's eye and Spock would be free to be all Vulcan, all the time, once more.

Unconsciously, she set her chin stubbornly and prepared to continue her argument as logically as the subject would allow. Sarek spoke before the first sentence was fully formed in her head. It was almost as if he'd been reading her mind. _Which he probably had been_, she realized with regret. In her agitation, she'd neglected to close off the bond.

"I would remind you, Amanda, that in three years, your son might find himself in need of a bondmate. Should T'Pring fail to accept him when the Time comes — which, considering the influence T'Pau has had on her upbringing and training, she is increasingly likely do if things continue as they are — the child would be in no position to come to his aid." He stared intently at the woman sitting across the desk from him. "Are you willing to risk our son's life so that you can pretend he is human?"

Her shoulders drooped at his last words but, through the bond, Sarek could feel her growing resignation. He softened his tone to suit his wife's human sensibilities, and projected familial affection through their marriage link.

"Adun'a, I have every confidence that Spock will be accepted into the Science Academy; your visit will have to take place at least two Earth months earlier than usual if he is to begin his studies on time. Nyota Uhura and her siblings travel to Betazed each year. All that I ask is that you plan your visit to the Drs. Uhura to coincide with the child's trip off-world. I ask this for the sake of our son, Amanda."

Fears for the safety of her only surviving child were her defeat. She knew that her husband would not have suggested the danger if he did not believe the threat to be real.

Standing, she walked around his desk. Without another word, Sarek relinquished his seat and left the room.

Amanda sat, unmoving, for the next ten minutes. She had two communications to get through and needed to choose her words carefully. Her parents would be pleased to learn their daughter and grandson would be making the visit in time to help with the early picking this year. Benjamin and M'Umbha wouldn't say anything about this second change in the routine they'd followed for years, but she was saddened by what they might think about the delay. After the events of their last trip, surely, both would suspect the reason for it.

_Spock_, she decided to suggest, _should be the one to explain the situation to Nyota_.

* * *

The conversation was not going well. Spock thought of his first encounter with Nyota and was thankful he was not getting a repeat performance.

"But you _always_ come to see me." She had abandoned any semblance of Vulcan-like stoicism — along with her self-imposed edict to speak only the Vulcan language while in communication with him — when he'd informed her of the changed itinerary precisely two minutes earlier. Spock had used the three-second lag to brace himself for tears and perhaps even sobbing. Instead, she offered all the anger and indignation a nine-year-old human girl could manage. "You can pick fruit anytime!"

"Actually, you are wrong on two points: first, after this trip, my schedule will be greatly altered from what it has been for the past six years and that might prevent me from returning for future harvests," he said with an air of indifference that he didn't truly feel. His own disappointment upon learning their trip to the Uhura compound would be delayed this year had come as something of a surprise. He'd always told himself he merely tolerated the child's presence. "Second, the purpose of our visits is so that Mother and I might see your parents. That we usually see you, as well, is… a bonus."

Her face stared back through the comm screen for an additional twenty-seven silent seconds before her jaw began working as she searched for something to say. Spock leaned closer to the screen, intrigued. It was not often that anything struck Nyota Uhura speechless. This was only the second time he'd borne witness to the phenomenon.

"And when you go home to attend the Science Academy, who _knows_ when you'll be able to come see me again," she went on. Apparently, she'd decided to ignore the implication behind his words and continue on her previous course. "It's not _fair_!" she added in a plaintive wail.

Feeling equal parts amused, flattered and saddened by her distress — an effect, he'd noticed, she increasingly had on him — Spock searched for a reply that would either bring back her usual amiable disposition, or so discomfit (or anger) her, she would be rendered unable to speak for only the third occasion since he'd made her acquaintance.

"There is a Terran saying," Spock told his young friend, "which I believe parents often use when speaking to their children. Under the circumstances, I think it is appropriate to remind you, Nyota: 'Life is not fair.'"

* * *

When Spock unfolded himself from Samuel Grayson's utility vehicle, he stepped onto a cushion of springy green grass instead of the pink stone or hard-packed red soil he had become accustomed to encountering during his first weeks on Earth every second year.

Green, in fact, dominated the landscape around him as he turned in a circle, observing his verdant surroundings.

Low shrubs, which he knew from experience produced a white variety of the sweet Nanking cherry, flanked the flagstone path leading up to the Victorian-style farmhouse, painted in shades of umber, sienna and mahogany. Honeysuckle vines twined along the wooden fence that enclosed an area of land, approximately six meters deep on all sides, around the exterior of the house. The farm itself — with its blackberry brambles, fields of mint and the cherry and apple orchards in the distance — was a veritable sea of emerald, peridot and jade tones.

Except for the house, nothing of his maternal relatives' Washington State property reminded him of Garissa; the Kenyan district — which he noted not for the first time — was much like Vulcan, and, as Nyota might say "felt like home."

He pushed the illogical thought from his mind, and strode over to where his mother and uncle were speaking with his grandfather.

.

.

"I've got something of yours, son." Absalom "Abi" Grayson's dark eyes gleamed with anticipated pleasure, relieving his weathered farmer's face of its customary gruffness. He turned and led his grandson down a short corridor to his crowed, but neat office.

His back to the teenager, he ordered him to sit with a wave of his hand. Without checking to see if the kid had complied, Abi walked over to a glass-fronted bookcase made from the same dark wood as his wide antique desk and removed palm-sized silver cube.

Only when he was sitting in his own seat did he look at his grandson. He broke into a wide grin at the sight of Spock's composed face.

Abi's fingers slid over the surface, working an old-fashioned mechanism that made the seemingly unadorned cube pop open at the top.

_A box, then_, Spock thought. He wondered at the workmanship and if his grandfather intended to share the crafting of such cubes now.

Reaching into the cube, Abi closed his large hand over a cool round object and lifted. His eyes remained on his grandson as he placed it on the desk. "This is yours," he said, reverently.

The half-Vulcan eyed the carving — predominantly of a rich green mineral, and polished to a dull shine — in equal parts confusion and curiosity before leaning forward to examine the stone apple more closely. Abi Grayson's tone suggested that the object held significance.

"It represents your Earth family," Abi prompted. "Every Grayson gets one of these the first time they help with the harvest. You grandmother carves them out of vesuvianite and nephrite — hard jade."

Spock's eyebrow shot up. Nephrite was expensive. "How is a stone figure of the fruit of _Malus domestica_ representative of the Grayson family?"

Six generations before S'chn T'gai Spock was born, his grandfather explained, diversification and science had rescued Grayson's Farm and Orchards from the brink of extinction. They had been in danger of losing everything that Abi's own four-times-great-grandfather had established.

Diversification had become necessary after disease killed off ninety-percent of the family's asparagus crop and changes in the market had rendered the small fruit-growing operation unprofitable. After several family conferences, an agreement had been reached: until their land was declared free of the blight, they would set aside several fields for growing a selection of crops resistant to the infection that had taken away the bulk of their livelihood.

A string of successful — and highly profitable — growing seasons had turned the temporary solutions permanent.

"We grow a veritable cornucopia of fruits: blackberries and plums and cherries all do well, but it's the Vesuvian that matters," Abi told his grandson.

"Grandfather, I still do not understand," Spock said at last. "Grayson's Vesuvian accounts for less than eight percent of your annual crop yield, and less than four percent of your yearly profits. How can it represent the Grayson family? Why not the spearmint and peppermint whose oils comprise the bulk of the family's most profitable products?"

Abi smiled and gestured for the young man to pick up the carving. "The other crops made us enough money to save the business, yes," he said, "and the mint-oil production ensures that we continue to live well, but that one fruit" he pointed to the stone apple "saved the Graysons. It reminded us of who we are, and of the strength it took to build up not just everything you see on this farm now, but also everything that came before it.

"Time was, a sport like the original Vesuvian would have been culled. Before the market became saturated, the business had reached a point where homogeny and the ability to deliver same product over and over again trumped the spirit of innovation that led Amasa Grayson to found this farm in the first place.

"Finding, and then developing, the Vesuvian reminded your ancestors of what he hoped to accomplish here."

The fortuitous discovery of an accidental seedling — which eventually bore a sweet, yet long-keeping natural hybrid that grew well in the sandy soil and damp air of the Puget Sound region — had eventually led to the application of advanced breeding methods in order to develop a larger form of the Grayson Vesuvian apple without losing any of the fruit's favorable characteristics.

Leaning back in his chair, Abi folded his hands over his abdomen and watched as Spock ran long fingers over the vesuvianite apple and its delicately-carved jade leaves.

_Three weeks every two years isn't not a lot of time to spend with family_, Abi thought._ It's not_ enough.

Getting to know this grandson had been more difficult than developing relationships with his other children's fully-human offspring. But, damn if it hadn't been worth it! Now, whenever Amanda and the boy left for the Spacedock every two years, two pieces of Abi's heart left with them. He wondered what Spock would have to say about that.

"It's the perfect blend of chance and science, Spock. Just like you. And I'm grateful to have both."

* * *

Nyota waited until Upenda and Muta exited the back of their parents' rented hover before tumbling out herself. She'd managed to contain herself during the short trip from Seattle, but wasn't sure how much longer she could hold back her happy dance.

Her feet sank into a lush carpet of green, stopping her short. Early morning mist still rose from the ground.

Spinning in a circle, she took in the world around her. Against the grey light of just after dawn, the jades and emeralds and peridots that made up Grayson's Farm and Orchards' color palette were nothing like Garissa's red and oranges and pinks and browns. Except for the house, which was painted in familiar hues somewhere between orange and brown, the whole place was like a giant version of one of Baba's gardens.

She breathed in the damp, slightly salty air. This was nothing like home, but it was magical and she loved it instantly.

M'Umbha moved to stand beside her youngest child, enjoying the wonder she saw in Nyota's expression.

"He must love coming here." The girl didn't look at her mother as she took in the new world she was discovering. "Even Spock couldn't look at this and fail to see beauty."

Chuckling softly, M'Umbha placed a hand on Nyota's shoulder and turned her back towards the house, where Muta was racing Upenda up the flagstone walkway. Benjamin followed behind them, walking slowly enough for the stragglers to catch up.

"There's beauty at home, binti," she pointed out as they walked towards the large structure. "It is different from here, yes, but no less pleasing to the eye."

Now her daughter did look up. "But it's _different_, Mama," she said. "Compared to here, home must look just like Vulcan. Why would anyone want to take a vacation at home?"

M'Umbha's laughter poured out into the early-morning air. "Perhaps your Spock gets homesick at times."

Nyota shook her head, setting off the clacking of her beaded braids. "He's Vulcan, Mama," she said quietly.

"Then, perhaps there are other reasons for him to enjoy his visits to our home."

Before her daughter could respond, they were standing on the front porch, Upenda and Muta flanking them, her husband at the rear, waiting to be welcomed inside.

.

.

Spock's family was wonderful. They were loud and noisy and nothing like the half-Vulcan at all. Nyota liked them anyway.

Nyota and her siblings had been absorbed into a swirling mass of almost two dozen young people, all preparing to pick cherries in one of the early-season groves. She was surprised to find, as the baskets and instructions were handed out, that she didn't feel shy or awkward like she usually did around children her own age. No one singled her out for teasing or made fun of the way she talked or laughed at any of the questions she asked.

She was nearly as comfortable surrounded by Graysons as she would be in a horde of Uhuras or Wakufunzis. Even so, she felt a twinge of trepidation at the yet to be discovered challenges of the task ahead. She loved learning new things, but she hated making mistakes. She wondered if she looked as afraid as she felt.

"You can be _my_ partner, Ennie," a small voice whispered in her ear. Seven-year-old Sarah Grayson looked her with soft green-brown eyes as she hooked a bony elbow around Nyota's equally slender arms. "I'll show you what to do. Last year was my first time, but I got really good at it."

The young red-head had already been so sweet and helpful, Nyota decided not to tell her that only family members used the nickname, and she _almost_ didn't mind that they were the same height, although Nyota was two years older.

Her eyes combed the room, hunting for a tall, dark-haired boy with pointed ears. Instead, she found Upenda watching her. The look said, _Are you alright?_ Smiling, Nyota gave a little nod and continued her search for Spock.

A tug at her arm brought her out of herself before she could find him.

"Come on, Ennie!" Sarah called, excitement filling her little voice with authority. "It's time to go!"

The two fell in behind the group, as they followed their leader, Noah — a teen-aged cousin who didn't seem to mind spending a day training the littles — out the back door, across the yard and into the small stand of cherry trees reserved for the Grayson kids.

.

.

Picking was fun, but harder than it looked.

The small swarm of children had spread out among the trees after Noah reminded them of the rules: pick from the stem and be gentle when placing the cherries in your basket, no littles under ten years old on the ladders (Grayson trees had plenty of low-hanging fruit), only eat _one_ cherry for every twenty you pick. Most of the other kids had been coming to what the family called First Harvest for years and knew what to do, anyway.

Laughter filled the grove as the morning grew, and baskets filled with deep red cherries. Some of the older littles — "You're a little until you're fifteen," Sarah had explained earlier — got into a competition while Noah pretended not to notice. They split into two teams of three pairs and set a fifteen-minute limit. The team who had the heaviest basket when time was called would be the winner.

Upenda and Muta, each picking for a different team, scurried up and down the ladders, following the advice and shouted directions of their own partners. Nyota stuck close to her young mentor's side, watching their antics from her place on the ground.

Picking was fun and Sarah was nice, but Nyota had come to Grayson's Farm and Orchards to see her best friend. And he wasn't picking cherries with the littles.

"Where are all the grown-ups?" she asked, deliberately modifying her speech to fit the patterns she imagined most girls her own age followed. She handed the other girl a newly-picked pair of deep red fruit.

"They're picking Vesuvians. All the bigs get to help. That's what First Harvest is _really_ about," Sarah replied. She carefully tucked the cherries into the basket she shared with Nyota and reached for the next pair. She frowned before her fingers closed around the twin stems. "They think we're still too little, though. They don't let _us_ help until the end."

Nyota wasn't sure what Sarah meant by either "vesuvians" or "first harvest," but she was pretty certain the two terms had something to do with the little girl's sudden show of indignation. She chose to forge on anyway.

"_All_ of the bigs are with the grown-ups?" She hoped the question wouldn't further perturb her source of information.

Little red head bobbing in confirmation, Sarah grasped the stems and placed the cherries with the rest.

"Yeah. Even my cousin Spock is helping. It's his first time, even though he's been a big for three years."

Nyota swallowed a sigh and looked up into the tree so Sarah wouldn't see the tears glistening in her eyes.

Picking was fun.

But it wasn't spending time with Spock.

.

.

He placed his basket of Vesuvians in on the utility-hover's flatbed and reached for a replacement. Uncle Sam clapped him on the shoulder and smiled fondly.

"Good work, son. Looks like you're a natural."

Spock's lips twitched up at the corners. "I have it on good authority that the talent is a family trait."

He was halfway through the next tree when Abi showed up to tell him he had visitors.

.

.

The littles took a break less than two hours after they'd started. It hadn't _felt_ like that much time had passed, not to Nyota or most of the others anyway, but some of the smaller littles looked done in, and everyone was happy to follow Noah over to one of the outbuildings and indulge in a snack.

"It's all fresh. None of that replicated, processed stuff you get in the big cities," Noah told the Uhuras proudly, as he led them to the dispensing machine. "Everything's grown right here at Grayson's."

He pushed a series of buttons and a small container filled with a selection of dried fruits. Another series of buttons produced a cup of juice made from an apple only grown in the family's orchards.

Food and drinks in hand, everyone got comfortable: leaning against fences, lying on the few blankets Noah had spread out or sprawling under giant maples that the Graysons didn't seem to grow for any reason other than they were pretty, all the while chattering about past harvests and school and plans for the rest of the day.

Nyota lay on her tummy under next to Sarah under one of the massive trees. She attempted to keep up with the little girl's rapid-fire questions about Africa as she continued her surreptitious search.

"Do you have trees like this one at your house?" Sarah wanted to know.

Nyota lifted her head to gaze at the maple. It was much bigger than most of the trees growing on the Garissa compound, but it looked like it had been climbable once.

"Not so big, but we have a few maples. Sometimes I climb them. I do some of my best thinking when I'm sitting in the arms of a tree friend."

Sarah's eyes widened at the new information.

"You like climbing trees?" Suddenly, she was standing and tugging at her new friend's arm again. "I've got something to show you!"

.

.

Spock was fairly certain of his visitors' identities.

His mother liked to say that she had been a schoolteacher. The truth was somewhat different.

Amanda Grayson had been a noted linguistics scholar, and by all accounts on her way to the top of her field, when she had met his father. She'd given up an illustrious career in the field in order to become a diplomat's wife.

M'Umbha Uhura bint Wakufunzi had done nearly the opposite. After leaving the Diplomatic Corps, she had embraced the life so many Wakufunzis before her had lived. Many considered her to be one of the best of even that respected clan.

And Amanda had mentioned only the night before that Dr. M'Umbha would be speaking in Seattle…

He had not yet informed Nyota of his changed plans. The child could be persuasive when she wished to be.

_Perhaps_, he mused, _I should have told her, and saved Dr. M'Umbha a journey away from her conference_.

But the thought hadn't occurred to him. And now, he suspected, she was here.

.

.

"It's perfect," Nyota breathed.

And it really was. Regularly spaced branches made it perfect for climbing. Their width made them ideal for sitting and thinking. In fact, the tree looked a lot like the ones Nyota had seen in the old illustrated children's books Mama collected.

Sarah had raced back the way they'd come earlier, dragging Nyota behind her until they arrived in front of the farmhouse. She'd led the older girl over to the trees lining the hover-way.

This one had stood out. The perfect picture-book tree.

Nyota turned to Sarah, eyes alight. "What are we waiting for?" she asked.

.

.

Nyota wasn't there. One minute she'd been lying under a tree with Sarah, his cousin Noah told him, and the next, the two little girls had been tearing back towards the house. Nothing to worry about, he said. They probably had to use the bathroom and hadn't though to use the one in the snack hut.

As a rule, Vulcans do not worry. But Spock knew Nyota better than Noah did. And he suspected his cousin Sarah wasn't much less reckless than his young friend.

He was rounding the corner of the house when he heard Nyota scream.

.

.

She'd been almost happy. Her fingers had pressed into tree bark as she hoisted herself from one branch to another. Sometimes, she's had to stand on her tiptoes to reach the next level, and she was suddenly thankful for the dance lessons Spock had continued to pay for, even after she'd told him how much she hated the classes.

Perfect Tree, as she now thought of it, welcomed her. It had tempted her like the tree of knowledge, urging her to taste its fruit by climbing higher and higher.

A sudden tug at one of her braids made her pause. "What is it, Sarah?" But the other girl wasn't close enough to touch. Instead of the other girl's pale hand, a gnarled brown branch gripped Nyota's hair.

Wrapping one arm around a small bough for safety, she tugged gently at the braid. Then harder. As it pulled free, six small beads fell to the ground with a soft _plink_ only Nyota could hear.

She made note of where they'd landed, then turned to resume her climb.

Mid-turn, her eyes slid over a tall figure rounding the corner of the house. He had dark hair and — she looked again — and were those _pointed ears_ at the side of his head?

"Spock!" she screamed, excitement and joy and excitement and relief and excitement and _love_ making her forget to hold on.

And then she was flying. No, she was _falling_. But, somehow it was all happening so…slowly, it was almost as if she were… floating to the ground. And she could see, out of the corner of her eye that Spock was running — so fast! So much faster than she was falling.

Time sped up.

Instinctively, she threw out one arm as she hit the ground with an agonizing thump, just in time to see familiar feet come into view.

She wondered, for a second, why Spock wasn't wearing shoes, but then the pain in her arm forced her to roll over and she was staring up at her favorite face in whole universe.

* * *

He was there. _Finally!_ She wanted to jump up and hug him and tell him everything — about how Mama got the last-minute call from a Vulcan lady asking her to speak at the conference in Seattle, about how _this_ year, she and 'Penda and Mu were traveling to Betazed _all by themselves_, about how happy she was to _finally_ see him again — _and had he always been so handsome_? — about how sad she would be when he returned to Vulcan. But the pain in her left arm was really bad and all she could manage was a croaked, "Surprise" before he was squatting next to her and asking all kinds of questions about what was hurting her and if she could stand, and saying she had been lucky not to have hit her head, and "Have I not told you to always be aware of your body's relationship to its surroundings?" And even with the horrible, sharp ache pulsing through her arm, she was happy enough not to mind his scolding.

.

.

"No!"

Greg Mitchell's head snapped down to stare at the little girl. His gaze slid over to where the hand of her uninjured arm gripped his wrist.

"Okay," he said softly. "I won't just yet." She released him and he stepped back, flicking a questioning glance at Amanda Grayson.

The woman stepped forward and placed a hand on the child's shoulder. She murmured a string of words in some alien language. Greg thought he heard "Nyota" in the mix, but couldn't be sure.

The girl — Nyota — had been a trouper throughout her examination. In spite of a face streaked with tears, she'd carefully described her fall and the resultant pain in precise terms. She hadn't flinched when he'd run his tri-corder over her limbs but the moment he moved the device towards her head to check for injury there, her hand shot out faster than a striking rattler and caught his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip while she screamed her protest.

He was stunned. Didn't know what to make of her sudden fear. But Amanda Grayson had supposedly known the child her whole life, and he trusted her to calm the kid down.

"Mother," her half-breed son broke in. Thankfully, he spoke in Standard instead of that alien gibberish. He'd been silently holding the girl's hand when Greg had entered the room to find mother and son huddled around the chair next the boy's bed. At first, Greg hadn't even noticed his patient. "Nyota did not hit her head when she fell. Perhaps further examination can wait until Dr. Uhura returns. He and Dr. M'Umbha are due back in less than ten minutes."

Greg felt a surge of frustration at the alien kid's interference. "Now wait just a second, son. You can't mess around with a possible head injury."

The boy turned his cold gaze on the doctor and repeated himself in that passionless voice. "Miss Uhura did not hit her head in her fall. I arrived in time to see. Her father is a certified physician, as well as a noted xenopsychiatrist. Surely it is wiser to wait for his imminent arrival than to further agitate the child."

Frowning, Mitchell started to overrule the boy, but his mother interrupted before he'd done more than open his mouth.

"Dr. Mitchell," Amanda Grayson began in that smooth, pleasant voice of hers, "can't you just give us another ten minutes? Benjamin has been practicing medicine for nearly twenty years. And although he's a xenopsychiatrist, he also did a specialty in treating human children. Wouldn't it make sense to give him another ten minutes so that he can examine his own child?"

The doctor never got a chance to answer, because while he was still thinking it over, Benjamin Uhura, M.D., FBPN-certified, and M'Umbha Uhura, Ph.D., entered the room and rushed over to their daughter.

.

.

"I don't _want_ to go to sleep, Baba! I thought people aren't supposed to sleep after hitting their heads."

Benjamin smiled at his youngest child. "I thought you did not hit your head?"

Nyota frowned, clearly disappointed at her failure to fool her old baba, and Benjamin's heart melted. He knew how important this visit was for her.

"It will just be for a little while, binti. Just until your arm finishes setting," he said softly. He glanced quickly at the young man standing by the window before returning his focus to the his little girl, now propped up in the youth's bed. "Spock will wait with you while you sleep." He cut another glance at the boy, daring Spock to contradict his pronouncement.

"That's not the same, Baba!" she whined, and Benjamin knew a moment of worry. Nyota was not prone to whining…. ahh, except where her Vulcan was concerned. He smiled apologetically at Spock and then stroked his daughter's head.

"Perhaps he will tell you another story as you fall asleep."

Rolling her eyes, Nyota muttered, "I'm not _three_ anymore," but Benjamin didn't miss the hopeful look she aimed in Spock's direction. "Low dose?" she asked, looking at her father again.

"Low dose," he promised, and set the hypospray accordingly. "You have twenty minutes," he told Spock. "Make sure she keeps that arm still until it takes affect. She should be out for about an hour."

Spock nodded and moved towards the bed.

Benjamin rose from his haunch-squat, and with one last look at the half-Vulcan youth, left the room. He trusted the boy with his daughter's life and, although he had never told anyone, not even M'Umbha, he also trusted him with Nyota's heart.

.

.

"What's that?" Nyota pointed to the green apple lying next to a PADD on her friend's bedside table.

"It is an apple. Made of vesuvianite and jade. It is a Grayson family emblem, of sorts."

Spock picked up the statue and placed it into the hand that wasn't wrapped in a lightweight cast. In spite a series of rapid blinks that indicated the sedative was beginning to take effect, Nyota managed to send him a questioning glance. He went on.

"Amasa Grayson founded this farm one hundred ninety-seven Earth years ago because he wished to be more innovative than he would have been able to be working for his family's eastern Washington farm.

"His experimental crops and methods were not an immediate commercial success, but his research was of great value to agriculturalists throughout the Pacific Northwest.

"Unfortunately, when he died just twenty-five years later, his sons decided not to carry on his style of farming. Instead, they chose to emulate their eastern cousins, and Grayson's Farm and Orchards became a major producer of asparagus and of Red Delicious apples."

He let his last sentence hang in the air, and Nyota sensed its importance.

"How did he die?" she asked at last.

Spock's dark eyes bore into hers as he said, "He fell from a tree."

Duly chastened — _again_ — Nyota swallowed the lump in her throat and studied the apple carving in her hand.

"It was not until a fungal infection decimated their asparagus crop and an oversupply in the global fruit market made the apples unprofitable that my forebears revisited Amasa's original goals.

"The Vesuvian apple was their first true innovation. It began as sport found in a long-disused orchard that had survived the purging of Amasa Grayson's experimental plants. Although normally the family would have culled any chance saplings found on the property, this time, they did not. Instead, they used every technique available to them to encourage its growth. It came to represent the Graysons' renewed commitment to Amasa's plans."

"Fascinating," she said, almost as if she were speaking to herself.

He raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Explain," he demanded when she didn't immediately elaborate.

"The Vesuvian is much like you, Spock. Conceived by chance, but nurtured by science. Under normal circumstances, neither of you would have survived. You both are here today because your family loved you enough to ensure your survival."

"How are you privy to the circumstances of my conception?" he asked, raising that highly mobile brow again.

Tucking the apple between her blanket-covered thighs, she touched a finger to her rounded ear and then reached for the small personal access display device still lying on the nightstand. She balanced it on bent knees and began enter data with her uninjured hand.

Her words echoed in his head, and he felt his perception of her change. He decided not chastise her for eavesdropping again. She could not always help what she heard. _That child's ears! _Dr. M'Umbha had said.

"Fascinating," he echoed quietly.

"It _is_." She yawned, but didn't look away from the PADD.

He did not tell her that he had been referring to her insight and her ability to connect the family symbol to the conditions of his own gestation.

"And there's more." She ran her thumb over the small green figurine.

"The metaphysical properties of vesuvianite vary according to who compiled the lists, but there are a few things on which all of these 'healers' seem to have reached a consensus: it aids in meditation because it helps the user release anger and negativity, in order to find life's true path. It aids in creative thought by stimulating the desire to discover new ideas and facts. It instills the courage to change in the person who holds it."

Yawning again, she picked up the apple and held it close to her eyes.

"All of those things would be helpful to one seeking to follow the path of Surak, would they not?" she asked, finally glancing over to him.

"Indeed," Spock told her. "Those properties would be most helpful… if one could give credence to them."

He plucked the heavy statuette from her hand and replaced it on his bedside table.

"Now, it is time for you to rest, Nyota," he insisted, taking her hand. Immediately, he realized her shields were down. He sensed her exhaustion, but also _curiosity_, _anticipation_ and _affection_. He projected _calm_ and felt her acquiescence.

"I want to finish helping with the picking, Spocky," she murmured sleepily. "Don't let me sleep too long."

"I will not," he promised, suddenly remembering he had not told her he would not be attending the Vulcan Science Academy.

Telling her, he decided as he watched her sleep, could wait.

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, any Star Trek characters or any Star Trek concepts. I also don't get paid for writing about any of those.


	5. Prv13:5—7

"I don't like her." Nyota expertly rolled a thick bunch of kale leaves into a neat cylinder and began slicing it into disks. "She doesn't say what she means. Her words don't match her… _you_ _know_."

Upenda looked up from the batter she was mixing. "Ennie… you know better than that," she admonished gently. "You're not supposed to be _Listening_ to our guests."

Nyota frowned and attacked the next roll of kale with more vigor than was strictly necessary. "I can't help it!"

Guilt formed a rock in Upenda's belly. She and Muta had spent so much of their sister's early childhood excluding her from their activities; Nyota rarely turned to them with the upsets of her life; she had adopted, instead, an older boy from several worlds away to do the job her siblings should have been doing all along.

Upenda set her spoon down on the work surface and moved closer to Nyota's end of the long counter.

"Yes, you can," she whispered, placing a hand on her sister's shoulder. "Do you need me to help you with your shielding? You Sound all jumbled up inside, dada."

Letting the knife and the kale slip from her fingers, Nyota looked up with watery eyes.

"It's just… whenever I see them together, I…" Unable to continue, she shook her head. "I'm sorry, dada. I really _can't_ stop Hearing her."

"Ennie, let me Listen to you try," Upenda murmured, laying her ear against the top of Nyota's head. Touching wasn't necessary for the task, but she suspected her sister needed the physical contact. "Think of her and try to shield yourself."

She waited for the small body relax into her light embrace and then Listened. The synapses fired and connections were made — only to fall apart before a strong mental wall had been formed. She Listened more deeply and Heard the sounds of Nyota's anger and fear winnowing away at the strength that should have gone into the shielding.

_Anger makes sense_, she thought. _The Risian has her Vulcan, but…_

"Why are you afraid of her, Ennie?"

"I'm not afraid _of her_; I'm afraid _for Spock_," was the tremulous reply, and Upenda Heard the truth in the steady rhythms of Nyota's body. "I don't want her to hurt him."

"I know how you feel about Spock — he's come to be like family to _all_ of us," she soothed. "But he is a grown man now, and he'll be okay, even without our 'protection.' You'll see."

"But she _lies_, 'Penda. She lied to Mama when they first got here — she doesn't really admire her for leaving the Corps," came Nyota's fierce whisper. "And she lies to Spock all the time — about liking us — about liking it here. It's just… now that he's not bonded…"

Upenda raised her head and turned her sister around for a tighter embrace, the gesture intended to induce silence as much as it was meant to comfort. Because of the _true_ vocation of so many of their Wakufunzi relatives and because of Ennie's ears — even, though to a much lesser extent, because of Baba's work — she and her siblings knew many things they weren't supposed to know. But they had also been taught what they could speak of and what they needed to keep to themselves. They weren't supposed to talk about why Vulcans bonded.

The small girl fit just under Upenda's chin and she felt a distinctly maternal twinge as she stroked her back.

"Maybe you're Hearing her wrong, Nyota ndogo," she whispered, hoping that she was right. "She certainly likes _Muta_."

The younger girl's stiff back was the second clue that Upenda had said the wrong thing; the first was a tiny spike in her sister's blood pressure. She rushed to continue before Nyota could comment on the woman's interest in their brother.

"Besides, we haven't studied much about the Risians yet," she went on. "I even have trouble just Hearing if she's healthy or not."

Nyota wiped her eyes against her sister's neck then tilted her head back to meet the older girl's eyes.

"I thought we weren't supposed to be Listening to our guests?"

Upenda smiled as she turned Nyota back to the chopping block. "I won't tell if you don't tell," she promised.

* * *

He could feel the Risian's eyes on him.

"On Risa, we value all forms of pleasure," Damalis had explained when she'd begged him to play for her. "But music is my own particular passion."

He'd agreed because music was also his passion. And because, although his sisters didn't like the woman who had arrived with Spock a week ago, she was a breathtaking sight — golden brown skin the same color as the instrument his fingers were caressing and pale green eyes with dark, tightly-curled hair that framed a face of exquisitely-formed beauty — and captivating and he hadn't been convinced that Pen and Ennie were right about her.

Until tonight. The verbal barbs she directed at Ennie were as readily apparent as the _nearly_ improper praise she'd been tossing his way.

The last of the music dissipated from his blood, letting the heat of Garissa and the sweet and spicy and tangy scents of his father's gardens call him back into the world with a fading African sun.

He hadn't Released the love and longing swirling within him as he played and sang — that was the rule when they had visitors. But even if his parents hadn't forbidden it, he would have hesitated to do so in the presence of the Risian.

Muta laid the Terran lute flat on his lap and opened his eyes. He allowed himself a moment to bask in the warmth of his parents' and sisters' affectionate smiles. Even Spock nodded approvingly, if infinitesimally.

The half-Vulcan's girlfriend was another matter.

While his Wakufunzi-given talent seemed to have manifested itself almost entirely through musical ability, he had become nearly as adept as the rest of his relatives at reading others. He may not have had his parents' training or an ability to Listen the way either Upenda or Nyota did, but even at thirteen, Benjamin and M'Umbha Uhura's only son recognized the look of a predatory female.

"You are very talented," the Risian purred. "On my world your gift would make you a highly sought-after… companion."

His face heated at the compliment — and at its not-so-hidden meaning. He exchanged a glance with the elder of his two sisters, then let his eyes wander to the darkening gardens below them. The Uhura home was built into a hill — there were more floors at the rear than in the front. The design made the hot season bearable. Tonight there was little to see beyond the balcony railing, but it gave Muta a place to look away as he decided to ignore that minute shake of Upenda's head.

"Ennie," he called, against Penda's wishes, "join me for the next one."

"Nyota has a pleasing and proficient singing voice, Damalis," Spock told his girlfriend.

"Oh, how sweet," the woman cooed. Muta only just managed not to roll his eyes.

Ennie's eyes skittered around the room, narrowing slightly at the sight of the Risian's hand covering Spock's. Muta sent up a silent prayer that, in gathering dark, no one but he and Upenda noticed that the small girl had to collect herself before turning to beam at him.

"Okay, Mu," she said and made her way to where he sat before the doors leading inside.

Looking up in time to catch his mother's approving nod, Muta placed his fingers over the lute's strings again and began strumming the opening notes of a song he knew would lift his sister's spirits while showing off her voice to good advantage. Not that there was much that _didn't_ sound beautiful coming out of her mouth when she sang. Still, he couldn't stand to see her hurting, and as alluring as he found the Risian, he wanted to wipe that condescending smile off her gorgeous face.

"No," Ennie whispered, and the pained crack in her voice combined with the anguish written across her face, sent Muta's fingers skidding off the strings. "Not that one."

He stared at her for a long moment, silently considering. Then, he put the instrument in its stand.

His eyes sought out Baba's in the gathering dark. Without breaking the gaze, he motioned Upenda over, and handed the her his favorite duduk. Sliding to the floor to sit cross-legged behind his tabla, he let his fingers slide over the heads of the teak dayan and copper bāyāñ while she changed the mouthpiece of the double-reed flute.

Ennie smiled a little, seemingly pleased with the choice. She reached over and grasped the discarded lute.

With a nod of permission Muta believed no one else caught, Baba stood and began walking around the stone balcony, lighting the torches that stood at each corner.

"This song, written by Mr. Peter Gabriel who came from 20th Century England, became the anthem for the Uhura warriors when our ancestors were fighting for African freedom," he informed their guests as he walked. "Our children hold fast to its spirit by singing it with their brothers and sisters and cousins on the eve of their days in the wilderness."

Carefully, gently, Muta lowered his shields. He Sent a tendril of reverence into the night as his palms and fingers picked out a rhythm on the two drums to accompany his father's speech.

"My children" Baba waved his left hand back towards Muta and the girls as he approached his seat again "have made it their own." He turned and sank down next to Mama, then nodded in the siblings' direction again.

Upenda placed the reeds between her lips and the duduk's first low, soulful notes seemed to grow to fill the air, and Muta took a deep breath and unshielded completely.

"_In this proud land, we grew up strong_," he sang. "_We were wanted all along._"

The tabla joined the duduk and emphasized his words. He _Sent_ his sadness.

"_I was taught to fight, taught to win. I never thought that I could fail_."

The weight of flute and drums flowed through his veins and he painted the pain of it into the tale of lost dreams and lost identity.

Then the lute and Ennie's soft voice wove their way into the despondency of the tabla and duduk, challenging the despair, offering a counterpoint of hope.

"_Don't give up_," she sang gently, her voice dancing around the dayan and the bāyāñ, sliding beneath the duduk. "_'Cause you have friends_. _Don't give up_. _You're not beaten yet_…"

With voice and drums, Muta unleashed sorrow upon suffering.

"… _thought that we'd be the last to go. It is so strange the way things turn_…"

But Nyota, lightly shielded, was there, her song growing in strength as the weight of his anguish threatened to crush them all.

"… _don't give up_. _No reason to be ashamed_."

His palms and fingers protested against the heads of the dayan and the bāyāñ — Upenda translated her disbelief through the hypnotic call of the duduk.

But their sister did not give up her assault of faith. Muta pulled a strand of her burgeoning hope into the tapestry he was weaving. He Released the new fabric of emotion into the night.

"… _don't give up_. _You know it's never been easy_. _Don't give up_," she ordered them. "_'Cause I believe there's the a place_, _there's a place where we belong_."

.

.

As her brother's Sending began to melt away, allowing what she was feeling to reassert itself, Upenda slowly lowered the duduk from her lips and scanned the faces in the orange glow of the torches.

The frolicking light — she smiled at the thought. _Frolicking!_ Muta had used Ennie's bright feelings perhaps a little too well — revealed tears streaming down Mama's unlined face. Just as Upenda knew they would do again in two months on the night before Ennie left for her Trial. M'Umbha had cried for her eldest and second child — even without Sent emotion. It seemed that knowing this performance was only a prelude to what was to come made little difference in their mother's reaction.

Baba's smile was full of approval. He was proud of his warrior ancestors, and of the fact that his children had embraced that heritage, in spite of the strong pull of bin Wakufunzi in all three of them.

Even Spock had been moved. Upenda couldn't tell if had been the work of the music, Muta or of the message, but she could Hear the changes in his body chemistry that indicated a strong emotional response. His face remained as impassive as ever as he offered a minute nod in their direction, but she didn't doubt what she Heard.

Damalis's smile hid a mystery the teen couldn't decipher through Listening, but she'd learned enough about the woman since Spock had brought her to the compound six days before to feel a trickle of trepidation as the Risian opened her mouth to speak.

She hoped, for Spock's sake, that the woman did not plan to continue to fawn over her brother or demean her little sister. What she'd told Ennie was true — Mama and Baba accepted the half-Vulcan as a second son just as she, Muta and Nyota saw him as an elder brother. None of them would accept seeing him hurt. And Spock, Upenda knew, was equally protective of his 'second family.'

.

.

Benjamin watched his elder daughter's lips tighten and saw that she stepped closer to her sister. Almost immediately, his son was at Nyota's other side.

Although he lacked the Wakufunzi gifts for fluent communicating, he had been a xenopsychiatrist for more than twenty years. He could read bodies and faces. A surge of pride-laced affection coursed through him as his children closed ranks to protect their own.

"That was wonderful, Muta!" Damalis cried, clasping her hands together. She jumped to her feet and descended on the children, stopping just half a meter away. "You truly _are_ a talented young man."

Benjamin's eyes narrowed. His youngest child's shy smile didn't falter, but he noticed her hands reaching out for her siblings.

"And Miss Upenda, your playing was exquisite! I'm only sorry you weren't able to sing, as well."

"You would have been even sorrier had you heard me sing," Penda assured her with false cheer. She drew her sister closer to her side and Muta followed her lead. "Ennie and Mu inherited Mama's voice. I usually sound like a choking pterodactyl when I try. The night before my Trial began, I had to resort to Sprechstimme to keep from doing irreparable damage to everyone's ears!"

The self-deprecation elicited delighted laughter and protests of "I'm sure that can't be true!" from the Risian woman.

Nyota, Benjamin noticed, was clutching her siblings' fingers tightly as Damalis went on praising the older children.

"Excellent performance, Nyota," Spock said, his voice barely above a whisper. But Benjamin knew from her growing smile and the relaxing of her hands and shoulders that his daughter had heard.

* * *

The sun still hadn't risen by the time they left the hover behind to make the rest of their way on foot. Upenda had allowed Ennie and Mu to take the lead — his experience was two years more recent than her own, and she believed their sister would benefit from sharing his memories of his Trial. Spock and Damalis had followed, the Risian showing all signs of being lost in the Vulcan, though he clearly took his role as chaperone seriously. Every twenty or so meters, he'd glanced back to make certain that Upenda still followed.

Nearly two hundred years before, the Tana River Dam had come close to destroying the desert region that made up most of Garissa. Where the slow-moving river and the resultant humidity had once prevented the district from feeling like a true desert, after the dam, residents of the area had been left with little more than a trickle of muddy water that was useless for commerce and didn't allow for patches of green to relieve the red and beige landscape of monotony.

The eighty-five years of hydration research that had eventually made Garissa famous had also done much to correct the wrongs of the past, and now the small party walked through the desert similar to what Upenda's Wakufunzi ancestors had known. But only hard work kept the place from being entirely incapable of supporting life. Although it was a far cry from the highland plains of central Kenya, that green place where Nyota would have her true Trial, it would good preparation for what was to come.

Upenda glanced up to note the sun was nearing its high point. They would stop soon — even if Ennie didn't think it necessary, Mu would make sure it happened.

She focused again on the trail her siblings were creating just in time to see the pair halt near a high dune held together with straw-colored grasses that would not have existed during the Dry Time. Spock and the Risian were still in sight, however, and when she focused, she could hear what they were saying.

"…very strong and handsome," Damalis observed. "On Risa, he would be popular for more than just his music."

"Muta is only thirteen Terran years old," her boyfriend chided. Upenda didn't need to break Mama's rules to hear the restrained tension in her friend's voice, but the Risian woman may as well have been oblivious.

From behind, it appeared Damalis's eyes never left her target. "And what is the 'Terran age of consent'?" she asked. Her voice managed to ooze both blithe irreverence and loaded sensuality. The fifteen-year-old admired the feat and vowed to learn the trick for herself, but hated that at the moment the tone was being used in reaction to her younger brother.

"Seventeen," was his terse response. Spock's face didn't change, but Upenda knew his displeasure was steadily increasing.

Ennie and Mu vanished behind the dune and Spock quickened his pace.

"I can wait four years," the Risian trilled, curling an arm around his elbow.

They reached the dune Ennie and Mu had rounded moments earlier, then they too disappeared from Upenda's sight.

"It was my expectation that, by then, you would be my mate," she heard Spock tell his girlfriend, in spite of his lowered volume.

"Oh, mine as well," assured the Risian, "but marrying does not mean the end of the search for pleasure, does it?"

Upenda didn't hear Spock's answer, but suspected Damalis would not find it pleasing.

.

.

"Here!" Ennie declared. "This is the place."

Muta quickly surveyed the site his sister had selected for their first night's rest. She had chosen a spot close to a small wadi. Once it would have been a wise choice while traveling through the desert, as the seasonal stream would not only provide a place to replenish depleted water supplies, but also serve to temper the extreme temperature contrasts between day and night. Since the Dry Time, however, a wadi such as this one have little of ameliorating the rapid cooling that would have left less the less experienced shivering in their sleeping bags.

There was nothing to be done about that, however. Nyota had made the best possible choice. And since the Risian had been slow to begin walking again after they'd waited out the worst of the day's heat in the shadow of a large dune several kilometers back, it was possibly their _only_ choice.

"You've done well, Ennie," he told her, giving her slim shoulder a light squeeze beneath the strap of her pack.

He shrugged off his own backpack as she beamed at his praise.

It was good to see her in such a cheerful mood. Damalis had been less obvious in displaying her dislike during their rest — and it wasn't precisely dislike, Muta conceded. It was more like… the Risian had little use for his awkward little sister because her people appreciated beauty and had made pleasure a way of life. Nyota, still growing into herself, was rarely comfortable in the presence of strangers; around the beautiful golden-skinned woman, she sometimes became the clumsy child she'd spent the last six years banishing. The beauty her family believed she would have one day was difficult for an outsider to see. Today, though, Ennie had moved like a dancer as they'd wended their way through the desert, and he suspected Damalis had taken note.

Tossing his sleeping bag on the still-warm sand before working on setting up his single-person tent, Muta decided his interpretation _must_ be correct. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched his sister turn in a slow circle — a queen surveying her nation — and smiled.

.

He was nearly finished when he heard her shout and then the splash.

Muta hadn't turned in time to see Nyota turn from the wadi, her hands full of two dripping canteens. He'd missed Damalis tossing a third water bottle — this one empty — in her direction. He hadn't seen his sister's legs becoming tangled in the straps of the pack she'd left at the edge of the stream, as she tried to catch the Risian's canteen.

But, late into the night, when he rested by Spock's side in the two-person tent the Vulcan had meant to share with his Risian, the African boy reviewed his friend's dive into the water to pull out his sister and her soaking wet pack.

He remembered that Spock hadn't hesitated to return to the wadi to find the three water bottles Nyota had dropped in her fall.

He recalled the nearly harsh tones Spock had used to chastise Damalis's unseemly enjoyment of the incident. The woman — _she was _Spock's_ age_! — had pointed and laughed, even as Ennie had struggled not to cry.

He thought of the Risian woman who now slept alone, in the tent he had erected himself, and he was pleased.

* * *

Smoothing her fingers across small round table, its dark wood glossy in the sun-filled kitchen, Amanda soaked in Africa's comparatively gentle warmth. The transition from the home of her childhood to the home she shared with her husband was less abrupt when Africa stood between Washington and Vulcan.

"After the way that woman behaved the first week, I should have said 'no,' but Nyota had been looking forward to it for so long. And with her Trial so close, and then the trip to Washington…" M'Umbha sighed. She reached out covered Amanda's hand with her own. "I really _am_ sorry."

Amanda also knew what the trip had meant to the little girl. She recalled a conversation, overheard years before.

"_Much like your kahs-wan_," the little girl had explained in her precise Vulcan, "_our Trial is a test of maturity and strength. We go into the wilderness when we are eleven years old, not seven — and we are permitted to take supplies…I must be strong. I will practice and prepare until I am eleven. _"

"No… M'Umbha, no. This isn't your fault." Amanda turned her hand beneath her friend's, automatically seeking the closeness of palm-to-palm contact in the Vulcan way. "Spock has been making his own decisions ever since he rejected the VSA. I've been really proud of most of them, and I know you have been, too. But Damalis… she was just a bad choice. He only stayed with her so long because she, um… because she'd proven herself capable of being an ideal companion during the Time."

She let her head fall forward. Unbidden, images of what must have transpired during the camping trip where her son had supervised the Uhura children filled her mind.

M'Umbha threw her husband a look of alarm. Head nearly touching the table, the American woman's shoulders were shaking almost violently, though no sound escaped her lips.

Although doing so went against what M'Umbha had always taught her children regarding the use of Wakufunzi gifts, she razed walls she'd kept mostly erect since she'd first left the Diplomatic Corps, pushed out and Listened to what her friend was feeling.

And realized… Amanda was not crying. The Vulcan's wife wasn't bowing under the pressure of a bondless son who might face his Time in less than a year. She was laughing — great hiccupping guffaws, now that her friends knew what she was doing.

"It's just… it's j-just I thought of Spock having to dive into that w-wadi," she sputtered, "to drag Nyota out…" Another fit of the giggles forced her to trail off. "After s-six years of ballet lessons…" she gasped, "and personal training every other year… all to make her more graceful... _h__e_ ruins all their hard work when he brings home that… Risian who doesn't like our Ennie."

The picture she painted was vivid — Nyota, pack and sleeping bag still strapped to her back, tumbling backwards into the seasonal desert stream. M'Umbha imagined Spock, wet and shivering in the desert cold after rescuing her daughter, while a contrite Nyota apologized and that... Risian cackled. Upenda and Muta no doubt jumping in to protect their sister's feelings. Then Spock… opting to defend all three of them…

The amusement was contagious. Suddenly she was laughing, too. Even Benjamin chuckled quietly.

Tensions and fears melted and all three shook their heads over the many trials of parenthood. And smiled at the many joys.

Spock was back at Star Fleet Academy; Upenda, Muta and Nyota were on Betazed. For the moment, all of their children were safe.

Laughter died away, finally, and the two women grew serious once more. Benjamin, they noted individually, appeared serious even when amused over their children's misadventures.

Amanda reached out again, this time letting her left hand close over M'Umbha's right.

"Don't worry," she said. "We don't even know that we need to yet. Spock's half human… And even if it happens, there are other ways."

The other woman opened her mouth to protest, but then, shaking her head sadly, decided against it. She knew the young half-Vulcan's mother spoke the truth. There were other ways. But humans weren't supposed to know about _any_ of this.

"He'll be _fine_, M'Umbha," Amanda stated firmly, because she needed to believe it was true. A gentle squeeze on her right shoulder brought a measure of comfort. She looked over to meet Benjamin's kind eyes. "He'll be fine," she repeated.

The African woman slid her left hand over to entwine fingers with her husband's right. The three sat for a moment, linked together in a house built into a hill, thinking about their children and the future.

* * *

**A/N:** Again with the references to things that are more fully explained in my other fics! I can't help it. Some elements don't change from story to story, although this one continues to stand on its own.

In my other fics, Muta is always described as a music virtuoso. As was suggested in the beginning of this chapter (and is implicit in other fics), Upenda's talent leads her to become an extraordinary doctor.

The song Muta originally chooses for Nyota is Natalie Merchant's "_Wonder_." Because she has a tendency to be shy around non-family members, the Uhuras encourage her to sing this song when they fear she's having an attack of low self-esteem. In the end, however, she and Muta sing a duet of Peter Gabriel's "_Don't Give Up_." I've based Nyota's vocals on a concert where he sang the song with Paula Cole, rather than on the original, which he sang with Kate Bush. The musical arrangements are completely new — I slowed the tempo considerably — and utilize instruments from around Earth.

Special thanks to the women of STCC Writers Guild for forcing me to make this more than the short filler chapter I'd intended to be. LadyFangs/AquaSoulSis, I'm gad you kept insisting on more More MORE, even if I grumbled at the time. Nubian Amazon, thank you for listening to song after song after song after... SpockLikesCats, you are so brilliant with the red pen, you chase me down even _after_ I post (and, lucky me, you do!).

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, any Star Trek character or concepts and I _still_ don't profit from writing about them.


	6. SoS8:8

As his hover floated through the large gates, Spock noted the changes Benjamin Uhura had made to the compound's landscaping. While it still reminded him of his parents' home on Vulcan, over the years, the verdant areas of the Uhura estate had become more lush, its contrast with the surrounding desert sharper. As usual, the large pale ochre-colored house appeared when the cream-colored walls were half a kilometer behind him. Truthfully, very little had been altered. Though he was loathe to admit it — even to himself — Spock took a measure of comfort in that fact. Exiled from his own home, it was always pleasing to return to this place, where so little ever changed.

But when he reached the house, there was no small, quick figure launching itself down the short flight of stairs and into the pink stone forecourt before the hover had halted. Dr. M'Umbha was standing alone in front of the large wooden doors.

Some things, it seemed, had changed, after all.

.

.

"Ah, Spock," M'Umbha sighed, "our little girl is growing up. A year ago, nothing would have kept her from home on this day. Now, it's 'Jamie Namalenga said this!' or 'Jamie Namalenga did that!' Lately, her whole world has been about the boy — whether he makes her smile or frown."

Spock's face twisted into what she liked to think of as his wry grin. He allowed only a very few see any expression other than one denoting carefully modulated curiosity, but M'Umbha knew she was among those who could elicit more unusual responses from him.

"She has only made two thousand, seven hundred forty-two references to him over the past year," he teased. "I gather she no longer views him as a rival. One thousand, nine hundred eighty-seven of those references have been positive."

"Only one thousand, nine hundred and eighty-seven?" The human woman shook with laughter. "You are fortunate in that. I was worried she might have forgotten there was a time when her dearest wish was to outscore him in every class and chase his times in every race. But, when he called this morning, taunting the poor child with, 'I bet you added six tenths of a second to your 100-meters since school let out', not even _your_ arrival could keep her at home."

"Competition, when used to improve one's own performance, can be a healthy motivator."

"Pah!" M'Umbha's hand came down hard on the table, and she shook her head, even as she grinned. "Ennie is trying to _impress_ that boy, and is going about it the way she always tried to impress anyone — by attempting to beat him at his own game."

Spock took eight seconds to consider the revelation. His observations of human relationships suggested… "It is my understanding that human male do not often respond well to females who perform at a higher level than they do in areas not traditionally dominated by females."

"Perhaps _you_ should be the one to tell that to our Ennie."

.

.

Jamie Namalenga looked across the dusty athletic field at the small girl surrounded by children who weren't much smaller than she was. He smiled to himself. Nyota was built more like a marathon runner than a sprinter, but in spite of her small stature, she was among the best 100m runners in the district.

A tingle of guilt pricked him as he turned back to his own group. He'd lured her here under what some might call "false pretenses," but his partner was competing in a race today and he really needed the assistance. Besides, Nyota was ideal for the job.

Developing good posture and balance were more important than increasing leg and arm strength for new sprinters as young as the ones he coached. Her dancer's training had given Nyota an awareness of how a body should move. And even though she was a little quiet and shy around the kids in their class, she knew how to make the little ones see exactly what she needed them to do.

Jamie was accustomed to being adored. The teachers in the accelerated-learning program he attended were impressed with his brilliance. Other teens from school and from town whispered — and nearly as often, shouted — about his handsome face and leanly muscled body. Still more of his compatriots admired his athletic ability. _Every_one he knew fell for his charm.

Nyota Uhura, at least, was never obvious about her crush; he could always count on her to lend him a hand with the kids or to go over lessons from class. It was a relief from the methods other girls used to capture his attention. Still, sometimes he worried that he was getting her hopes up.

He knew that Nyota had expected to train alone with him today. She hadn't agreed to meet with him because she wanted to spend her free day helping him coach his seven- to nine-year-old runners. But she'd gamely accepted the half of the group his running partner usually worked with.

"Amiri," he called out the little boy whose twitching impatience might one day be molded into the kind of reflexes top-level all-Earth sprinters needed to become champions, "relax! And mind your feet. Keep off those toes!"

.

.

An hour later, the last of the children waved good-bye and Nyota stood at his side.

"Thank you for coming out today," Jamie said, smiling down at her. A sudden impulse made him want to do something nice for her. "Want to grab something to eat before you go home?"

A bright grin lit her face and for a passing moment, she was almost pretty. When she smiled, Nyota reminded him of the beautiful Upenda. But then it was gone. Her face fell and she shook her head regretfully.

"My friend Spock arrived today. I have to go home."

Interest piqued, Jamie's brows rose. "The Vulcan? He's in Starfleet, yes?"

A different kind of smile found her lips at this. "Yeah," she said. "Mama was in the Dip. Corps with his father. I've known him since I was a baby. Anyway, he helps me with studying and training when he can. He's probably already got a bunch of lessons and exercises ready for me. I should go…"

Jamie grinned at her obvious reluctance. "Maybe next time," he suggested. "If Julie decides to keep competing this season, I might need your help every weekend, anyway."

Her smile widened into a full grin, as her head bobbed up and down enthusiastically.

"Okay," she said, a little breathlessly. "I… I, uh, I'd better go home now."

She turned and fell into an easy lope that would carry her all the way back to the Uhura compound on the outskirts of Garissa Town.

"I'll let you know," she called over her shoulder.

Jamie watched her until she disappeared behind the school's mathematics building on the far side of the campus. Nyota Uhura was built like a marathoner and when she ran, he thought, she was actually beautiful.

.

.

Dr. M'Umbha called it "sulking." She said the practice was common among human adolescents, and while Spock had been given ample opportunity to verify the truth of her assessment — during time spent with his Grayson cousins and, later, with his peers at the Academy — it was not a behavior Spock was accustomed to observing in his young friend.

Amongst the people with whom she was most at ease, Nyota was usually straightforward about her wishes, and quiescent when a refusal was presented with rational explanations. But there was nothing usual about the way she had withdrawn from him and her family since Dr. Uhura had had denied her request to postpone the long-planned trip to Washington.

"Your mother _must_ be at the conference on Mars colony next week," her father had reminded her, "and I have promised to go with her this time. Who will stay here with you?"

"I'm not a baby anymore, Baba," Nyota had insisted. "I can stay by myself."

Benjamin had shaken his head slowly.

"Or maybe Muta cold come home and commute," Nyota had suggested before Dr. Uhura could respond. Her left foot had begun a swift, rhythmic tapping as her excitement grew. "Mombasa's not that far away, and it's only for two weeks!"

"Your shuttle to Betazed leaves from Seattle."

Spock had expected her to give in at this point, and for the family to resume their quiet evening's entertainments — a mildy strategic board game for him and Dr. Uhura; Dr. M'Umbha and Nyota deciphering and singing ancient Deltan songs. Instead, the young girl had continued to argue for remaining in Africa.

"That can change! We left from Nairobi for years."

"Enough!" Dr. M'Umbha's normally-cheerful voice had taken on a sterner, sharper edge than Spock had ever heard before.

In the past, even while chastising her children in his presence, the human woman had spoken like the successful diplomat she had once been. She took on such a commanding presences in those moments, she did not need to raise her voice in order to make her point.

Two nights before, Spock had watched her take a different approach.

"Nyota Wangari Uhura bint Wakufunzi," she had intoned deliberately, "I did not realize I was raising a child capable of such selfishness.

"Any number of my or your baba's relatives could have come to stay with you until you left for Betazed. Many more would have gladly taken you into their own homes. You begged to extend your visit to Absalom Grayson's farm, instead.

"Mr. Grayson agreed to accommodate you. We made the arrangements for you to leave from America. Spock has agreed to escort you there.

"Would you like to explain to Lady Amanda's father why you are not coming after he made room for you? Would _you_ like to explain to your brother why he should lose valuable practice time and informal sessions with his friends and his professors in the music program he has been waiting five years to attend?

"All so that you can spend more time with a boy who you will see nearly every day next term? A boy who is three years older than you?"

Nyota had looked abashed. Her voice had been soft — almost inaudible — as she apologized to her parents and to him for her thoughtlessness. Then she had requested, and been granted, permission to retire to her bedroom.

Dr. Uhura said Nyota had been "testing her boundaries." But, two days later, he was concerned about the drastic change in his daughter's behavior.

"It's normal for a teenager to act this way," he had told Spock, "but with the trip coming up so soon… Please, will you speak with her? She has always felt able to confide in you."

Loyalty, formed years before when the quiet xenopsychiatrist had done almost as much as his wife to make a half-Vulcan child feel accepted while attending various embassy functions, prompted Spock to agree.

He found her sitting under the Acacia _tortilis_ she called her "thinking tree," earpieces in both ears and a PADD in her lap. Her lips moved soundlessly as she went over exercises for one of her independent language studies.

Taking a seat beside her, Spock touched her left shoulder. Nyota pulled out her left earpiece, but did not look at him.

"I apologize for interrupting your studies," he said after watching her silent recitation for another forty seconds. "If you prefer, I can return at another time."

"I am reviewing the Lower Romulan Dialect," she replied in Vulcan. "I began learning it before I spoke my first words in Standard. Your presence will not impede my progress."

He took that as permission to begin.

"Your visit with my mother's family will only last two weeks. Surely an additional fourteen days is not so long a time that your... Jamie will begin to forget you." He wondered, again, why he had been asked to persuade Nyota to change her attitude. "You have been looking forward to the harvest for the past year."

"That was before Jamie…" She looked up from her PADD, a tremulous smile breaking through the misery that had darkened her face just moments before. "He requested my assistance in training the young ones."

Spock was already aware of what the boy had asked of her — he'd been there when she had first petitioned her parents — but opted not to point that out. "That would be difficult, if not impossible, Nyota. Even if you remain here for the next two weeks, your aid would be curtailed because you will be on Betazed during the following six weeks."

"I am only going for half the time because Axin is returning to Earth," she admitted. "I know that I would be unable to fulfill Jamie's request, but I wished to help him while I was able."

Spock considered her words, and the sound of defeat with which she had delivered them. Emphasizing the minor positive aspect, he decided, would be his best approach.

"You will have an additional three weeks in Jamie Namalenga's company this year," he pointed out. "I see no reason why you should refuse to speak to your parents because they insisted you remain committed to plans that have been in place for eleven months."

"You are correct," she conceded doubtfully. "I will behave in a more pleasant manner until we depart."

"Good." Spock left her to complete her work, ignoring his own doubts.

* * *

Graysons' Farm and Orchards' many shades of green were nothing like home's myriad of reds and browns, but Nyota still loved everything about the place. Only the lack of a tall, handsome Kenyan runner marred its perfection.

Nyota loved the Grayson cousins who welcomed her as if she were one of their own. She dove into the gossip about Timothy, who had turned sixteen in the past year and thought he was better than all the littles now.

She raced up and down the ladders, picking cherries like the old hand she had become, and peeked through giant leaves in chest-high fields of Romanesco broccoli, only to be fascinated over and over by the fractal growth of the florets.

Activity and the moist air left her ravenously hungry, and she eagerly partook of the farm's produce.

But on the first two evenings, instead of spending her time shadowing Spock or chatting with the older littles as she'd done during previous visits, she remained alone at the outdoor table after the evening meal, reading running manuals or writing long letters to Jamie Namalenga that she knew she'd never have the nerve to send.

On the third night, Abi sat down next to her. "And why isn't my Star shining as brightly as she used to?" he wanted to know.

"Sorry, Mr. Grayson," she whispered, offering him a weak smile. "I'm okay, actually."

"Is that so? Then how come you're not up at the house, pestering my grandson to join the rest of us out here?"

"Sometimes, a person needs solitude."

"Is that your way of telling an old man to buzz off?"

Her resulting grin was like watching the sun come out.

"No sir," she laughed. "I like hanging out with you. All the littles do. Most of the bigs, too."

"Well, it that's the case, why don't we 'hang out' a bit and you can tell me what's been keeping that beautiful smile off your face every evening since you got here. And that's 'Grandpa' to you, young lady."

He gave her a long appraising look when she didn't speak right away. "You aren't homesick, are you? Do you miss your mom and dad? Your brother and sister."

"Not really; it's like home here," she told him, shrugging. "It's only a couple of weeks; I don't miss Mama or Baba all that much. And Penda and Mu have been gone all year anyway. I've gotten used to it."

"We love having you here, too, Ennie. Half the time I can't even remember you're not one of the grandkids!" He winked at her, then grew more serious. "But you're missing _some_one, aren't you?"

His face was so kind, and he looked at her with such understanding that Nyota, at first hesitantly, but then with increasing detail and passion, began explaining about leaving Jamie Namalenga.

"Penda says people do stupid things for love," she concluded. "Like staying at school year-round because the man you want to be with has to marry someone else even though your little sister needs you."

Abi smiled a little to himself, grateful that Nyota was too busy staring out into the orchard to notice.

"Upenda is right," he agreed, "Sometimes love does make us do silly things. And sometimes it leads us to create wonders."

She looked over and stared up at him. He wondered what was going beyond those dark, serious eyes. Then she smiled, and her whole face brightened. _One day she will be the one breaking hearts_, Abi mused.

"Like the Vesuvian?" she speculated. "And Spock?"

"Exactly." Abi grinned and wrapped an arm around her narrow shoulders. "And like you and Miss Upenda and Mr. Muta. I think your mama and baba understand better than you think."

She rested her head against him, a small smile still playing at her lips.

"Thanks… Grandpa."

* * *

_Jamie Namalenga thinks I'm beautiful_. The words in her head urged her to lift her feet. _Jamie Namalenga thinks I'm beautiful_.

_Jamie Namalenga thinks I'm beautiful_. It was better than Axin coming back to Earth. _Jamie Namalenga thinks I'm beautiful_.

_Jamie Namalenga thinks I'm beautiful_. It was more wonderful than eating Romanesco broccoli in Washington. _Jamie Namalenga thinks I'm beautiful_.

_Jamie Namalenga thinks I'm beautiful_. It was as special as meeting Spock for the first time. Almost. _Jamie Namalenga thinks I'm beautiful_.

_Jamie Namalenga thinks I'm beautiful_.They spurred her on and reminded her to keep her arms low and close to her sides. _Jamie Namalenga thinks I'm beautiful_.

His actual words, spoken to a skeptical boy who looked Jamie's age, or maybe a little older, had been more prosaic.

"She doesn't look like it," he'd told his companion, "but she's a gifted runner. She's like a cheetah, my friend. I've watched her hundreds of times and I still can't figure it out. Her form is unusual, but amazing. And effective."

But she knew what he'd meant because, even though it was against the rules, she'd started _Listening_ the moment she'd realized the two boys were talking about her.

The other boy had scoffed, but Nyota hadn't even cared. What she'd _Heard_ had given her wings. She would fly through the race.

Jamie Namalenga thought _she_ was beautiful when she ran. Not her unusual, but effective form. _Her_.

_Jamie Namalenga thinks I'm beautiful_.

The thought carried her through the finish tape.

.

.

She didn't think about what she was doing. She hardly heard the shouts of congratulations or surprise or both at her win. She barely felt her coach's heavy hand, patting her on the back. She didn't realize that her face, flushed with excitement and lit with joy, still looked nearly pretty. All she saw was the way Jamie was smiling at her with admiration.

Before she could stop herself, her eyes were closed and her arms around his lean waist.

He didn't step back when her lips met his. For just a few glorious seconds, Jamie Namalenga was kissing her back and her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could feel it. Only his strong arms kept her from falling into a dizzy heap on the ground.

Her mouth opened without her telling it to and then Jamie's tongue was there, stroking hers, making Nyota start and gasp.

And accidentally bite down.

_No_!

She squeezed her eyes even tighter when he suddenly stilled, then withdrew his tongue and lips.

When she opened her eyes again, and he gently set her away from him, his smile was full of something that looked a little too much like amused pity.

She blinked up at him in contrition and confusion. "Jamie? That was an accide—"

He leaned forward again and she felt his lips brush her forehead.

"Congratulations, Little Cheetah," he said, stepping back. "Maybe we should not try that again while you are so hungry."

His voice was light and teasing, but Nyota _Heard_ what the joke tried to conceal.

Jamie Namalenga thought kissing her had been a mistake, and he would never try again.

She stood looking after him as he walked away, refusing to let the tears fall from eyes that were no longer shining with bliss.

* * *

M'Umbha Uhura was worried about her youngest child. Ennie's behavior had been trying before she'd left for Washington, but there had been little cause for worry. She'd been doing what teenagers across Earth did.

In the month that had passed since the school term's first race, however, Nyota had become increasingly withdrawn. Again, that was to be expected — Upenda and Muta had gone through similar phases — but their minor setbacks had never kept them huddled inside themselves for more than a week or two.

They'd each had school friends they could turn to. Ennie had classmates and teammates who were friendly, but she only really _talked_ to one person outside of the family.

M'Umbha disliked imposing upon anyone, but her daughter's emotional health was more important than such concerns.

She sat at her desk and initiated a communication to San Francisco.

.

.

He found her exactly where he expected her to be, sitting under the broad canopy of her favorite Acacia _tortilis_. She looked up as he lowered himself onto the long grass growing at the base of the tree.

"A burden shared is sometimes easier to bear," he said quietly.

"Not this time." She spoke in Standard, and her face, usually so expressive, was closed to him. "You _really_ don't want to know what I'm thinking. It would upset your Vulcan sensibilities."

"Perhaps you should tell me anyway," he said tersely, even as he reminded himself of Dr. Uhura's warning. Human adolescents, it seemed, were also prone to making belligerent remarks when they did not wish to discuss their problems. "My tolerance for emotional outbursts might surprise you."

"Why are you even here?" she snapped. "How come you have enough free time to keep coming back to walk a stupid human kid through the trials of growing up?"

"My duties at Starfleet Headquarters rarely keep me occupied on weekends."

"Why are you serving on Earth, anyway? Shouldn't you be on a ship? It's _Star_fleet, not the Science Academy!"

Only their decade-long acquaintance kept him from rising and walking away.

"Exploring the universe is your dream, Nyota, not mine," he told her, pushing down the sharp pang annoyance and anger her words awakened. _She is young and in pain_, he reminded himself. "There are many ways of serving in Starfleet, and I am content with my current responsibilities. They allow me to be at your disposal… if you require a friend to listen."

She blew out a breath and her shoulders slumped. The tension that had left her looking rigid and defensive flowed out of her body. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I wanted what they have," she whispered. "I wanted to be like Mama and Baba." A soft, broken sob escaped her throat and she began to shake.

_Ah_. Benjamin and M'Umbha Uhura's early courtship had achieved legendary status among their children. They had also been, Spock recalled, only thirteen when they'd fallen in love.

This wistful Nyota, who yearned for romantic love and who dreamed of more than just exploring the universe was beyond his realm of experience. He had prepared for anger and confrontation. Spock did not know how to comfort her, but the desire to try was as automatic as breathing.

"You parents were fortunate; most humans do not go on to marry the partners of their adolescence."

"Young humans are not the only ones who choose unwisely. Neither Damalis nor Leila is your mate. And you chose them as an adult."

Spock chose to ignore her observation. "You are not M'Umbha Wakufunzi," he continued instead, inwardly wincing at stating the obvious. If anything, when away from her own family and his, Nyota more closely resembled her father, quietly observing the people surrounding her. "Jamie Namalenga is nothing like Benjamin Uhura. Perhaps you have made a fortunate escape.

"It is unlikely that he would have followed you into Starfleet, or waited for you while you served on missions that took you away from him for years at a time," he went on, opting for full disclosure over tact when her sobs did not start again. "Eighty percent of Starfleet officers assigned to deep space missions do not marry before retirement or planetside reassignment. Among the twenty percent who _do_, seventy-six percent choose spouses eligible to serve with them. Still, sixty percent of those marriages fail."

Nyota's eyes grew wider with each statistic he supplied. The tears on her face evaporated in the dry wind and were not replaced. Silence hung in the air while she contemplated the information.

"Why do you know this?" she asked eventually.

"Although interspecies ethics is compulsory, the unit on human behavior is optional for non-command track cadets, but recommended for anyone who intends to serve on long missions."

"Oh." she said. "I'm sorry about what I said before.. about… the VSA."

He couldn't tell from her voice whether or not the information had brought his young friend a measure of comfort. Further action, he decided, would "cover all the bases." Feeling awkward and hesitant, he slipped an arm around her and pressed her head against his shoulder as he had seen Upenda or Muta do many times.

Her small hand found his, and he felt her shields fall just enough to leave her open to projection, without allowing her own emotions to escape her careful control again. He accepted the unspoken request and broadcast comfort and peace.

The sky faded from pink to magenta to violet before turning a deep blue-black sprinkled with stars. Spock and Nyota sat in silence, watching each one appear.

* * *

**A/N:** Again with the references to things that are more fully explained in my other fics! I can't help it. Some elements don't change from story to story, although this one continues to stand on its own.

Thanks to the women of STCC Writers Guild and Writers Anonymous for your support and for reminding me of how _hard _it was to be a 13-year-old geek.

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, any Star Trek character or concepts and I _still_ don't profit from writing about them.


	7. Prv27:6

Spock and Benjamin dropped their baskets at the foot of the olive tree and scanned the area around them. There wasn't much that needed doing, Benjamin decided, but there should be enough time to begin saying what needed to be said.

Benjamin pointed out several errant branches that had escaped Spock's careful grooming. Woody vines twined their way around and up the trunk of the single olive tree and spread across the garden walls. The flowers were closed at this time of morning, but their heavy, heady scent still lingered.

Evaluating their best plan of action, he ordered, "You pick and I will prune behind you. Your hands are much faster and more precise than mine."

Spock quickly began relieving the branches of their fragrant burden. Benjamin pulled his shears from their case and began clipping. The leaves, which had been used in traditional Ethiopian medicine for centuries, could be separated later. The flowers would need to be processed within hours of being harvested.

When they had settled into a steady rhythm, Benjamin realized he should begin.

"At times it must seem to you as if my daughter is another person entirely," he mused. "One minute she is serious and reasonable, the next she is silly and teasing. And then, seemingly without warning, she becomes angry and insolent.

"You may have found yourself wondering, 'Where is Nyota? Who is this devil who has replaced her?'" he noted as Spock began picking blossom and flower buds from the escapees.

Benjamin smiled a little at his own phrasing. Spock, with his Vulcan tendency towards meticulosity, had likely wondered no such thing. He waited to see if Amanda Grayson's son would rise to the bait.

The implied question was met with a long enough silence that he considered letting the poor boy off the hook. After all, the young officer was no more accustomed to a teasing Benjamin than he had been used to an often-out-of-sorts Nyota.

"I admit to a certain amount of curiosity, Dr. Uhura," Spock conceded before the doctor could modify his query. He moved on to another branch, and Benjamin snipped off the bare one and placed it in his basket. "Upenda and Muta did not show particularly broad contrasts of disposition when they were Nyota's age. I expected much of the same from her.

"However, Human Biology was a part of my studies both before and during my time at Starfleet Academy and I do have _some_ familiarity with other human adolescents. I realize that the effects of the biological changes young humans experience at this time manifest themselves in a variety of ways."

"And has that satisfied your curiosity?" Benjamin pretended to focus on his work so that Spock wouldn't see his growing amusement. He took his shears to the twenty-eighth branch; the younger man had already stripped it of blooms. "Are you convinced that the answers to the changes in her demeanor lie completely in having an immature prefrontal cortex or perhaps in experiencing extreme hormonal fluctuations?"

"I do not doubt that those factors have at times influenced her conduct."

"Influenced it, yes… but I do not believe they are entirely responsible."

He paused until Spock turned, his hands still selecting flowers and buds for the harvest, to stare at him.

"Why did you choose to grow Jasminum _abyssinicum_ here?" Benjamin asked, gesturing expansively to include all of Spock's walled garden. He studied Spock to see if the abrupt change in subject discomfited the boy, and was convinced that it had, though no obvious sign of that showed. "It belongs in the montane forests of my home, not in these low deserts."

"Your wife and daughters have often expressed a preference for this species over all other jasmines," Spock replied. "Additionally, I was intrigued by the challenge of growing a plant not endemic to the area while maintaining the assets that have made it so attractive to the females of your family."

It was a valid enough answer — in the ten years since Benjamin had granted him the space, Spock's forest jasmine, native to mountainous highlands where Benjamin's parents still lived, had produced many harvests prized by his wife and daughters; the oil Benjamin produced from the flowers had even inspired Nyota to create her own scent — but it was not the whole answer.

"You also wanted to see if you could make it thrive out of its element."

It was not a question, but Spock seemed to take it as such.

"Yes."

"And you know something of thriving outside of your element." Benjamin returned to his pruning as he continued speaking. "That is something our Nyota must also learn."

.

.

Dr. Uhura's stillroom was dark and cool, a dramatic contrast to Garissa's bright heat. While the doctor pulled dark green glossy leaves from branches, Spock weighed blossoms and prepared them for the extraction unit.

"My family expected me to become a practicing pediatrician," Dr. Uhura said in deceptively idle tones. "I finished my medical schooling by the time I was thirteen — not terribly unusual in the Uhura family — but, of course, I was too young to practice. Since I was at loose ends, and had never taken the time to consider what I might do between then and turning eighteen, my mother began taking me along with her to legislative sessions.

"As you know, she's an Uhura by birth as well as by marriage, but she wasn't born into one of the doctoring lines as my father — her distant cousin — was, and never developed a love for the field. So, even though she met my father in medical school, it turned out the politics was her true calling. So, when I was thirteen, a physician without a license and without any inclination to pursue another course of study, she introduced me to her own world.

"I did not learn to love the political world that captivated her. But I did learn to love in that time."

Spock wondered why the man was repeating stories he'd already heard many times throughout the years he'd been acquainted with the Uhura family. Normally a man of few words, Dr. Uhura rarely spoke without a deeper purpose. Spock remained silent and split his attention between preparing supercritical carbon dioxide for the extractor and listening to Benjamin Uhura's story.

"There are always scores of Wakufunzis at any meeting of the African government," the doctor continued. "Even when they do not take an active role in the proceedings, their presence is expected because they remind us who we once were, and of what we do not wish to lose.

"Abasi Wakufunzi brought his daughter with him that year. M'Umbha Wakufunzi was _not_ finished with her schooling and she already had the next five years of her life planned out. Attending legislative sessions was just another part of her training. Changing the course of my life was merely incidental.

"At the time, I knew little of the Wakufunzis' history and nothing of their complex lineage, though I suppose I would have been apprised of it before I was allowed to begin my career. Their secrets are nearly as much of the reason Uhuras become doctors as are our own. But I was not aware of this at the time.

"Then, I only knew that M'Umbha Wakufunzi was beautiful, and that she seemed to understand me in a way my own mother did not know me. Upon our first meeting, she greeted me in Gikuyu and asked me how I intended to spend my time until the government decided I was old enough to do my job. I had no answer for her, so she told me about her dreams of serving in the Diplomatic Corps.

"It was a somewhat unusual, though completely logical, choice for a Wakufunzi and I was immediately intrigued. By the end of that first day, I had resolved to return to school to study xenopsychiatry. I had no notion that M'Umbha would one day call herself an Uhura, but I knew I wanted to be wherever she was. To that end, I would need to be of use to the Corps.

"It was not a rational decision, Spock, but it was one I felt compelled to make. In spite of the hardships we both experienced in those early years, I have never regretted my choice."

"Among my children, Nyota resembles me most in temperament. Although, being a daughter of Wakufunzi, she is fully capable of — and is sometimes prone to — talking the ears off an elephant, quiet contemplation is not foreign to her. She does not make decisions lightly. And once she has truly decided on a course, it is nearly impossible to move her from that path — no matter the personal consequences. Even when she does not understand why she feels she must do what she does."

* * *

Nyota leaned back against her favorite umbrella thorn and gazed past her handsome best friend, up into the pink and purple evening sky. Behind her, the sun's final spectacular show went unnoticed.

"I will be working up there one day, just like you," she told Spock. Her eyes dropped to peer at him. "Maybe we will even be assigned to the same ship," she added hopefully.

The half-Vulcan sat down beneath the tree, facing her. As usual, it was nearly impossible to read him. The gloaming certainly didn't help matters. But she thought there was the tiniest gleam of amusement in those dark eyes when he tilted his head back to see the sky.

"There is always the possibility; such an outcome is improbable, however," he said. He'd long ago stopped worrying about hurting her feelings. Nyota Uhura didn't cry easily these days. "I will most likely continue to serve on science vessels, while your talents would be most useful on a starship exploring worlds we have not yet discovered. That is still your ambition, is it not?"

She smiled at his stuffy devotion to logic. Her Spock was always logical. _But not tonight_, she decided. Clambering to her knees, she stared up at him until he dropped his head and met her gaze.

"I need a favor," she told him, too sure of herself to be the least bit nervous. "It is something very important."

He hesitated just a bit — past favors had usually involved crazy (by _his_ standards) adventures in the African countryside — but he'd almost always gone along with her schemes, if for no other reason than to keep her safe. She was sure he wouldn't deny her this one, either.

"What is it this time, Nyota?" A near-smile touched his lips as he formed the question. "We have already visited the elephants and seen lions in the wild. Would you like to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro before you leave for San Francisco? Plunge over Victoria Falls in a barrel?"

A burst of laughter sent her falling back on her heels. She loved it when he teased her! His behavior was such a far cry from that of the stiff-faced boy she'd first met twelve years ago.

"Of course not, Spocky!" In her exuberance, she unconsciously reverted to the old nickname. Hearing it float through the evening air brought her back to her senses, though. Giggles controlled, she started again. "Of course, not, Spock. I climbed Kilimanjaro back in October — well, I climbed a lot of it, anyway; and one is supposed to go over _Niagara_ Falls on a barrel." He already knew these things — she understood that — but he was so rarely playful, she felt obligated to participate in his banter.

Spock feigned surprise and confusion. She nearly giggled again at his effort to mimic the human expressions.

"What, then," he began, "could you possibly need of me? You have already accomplished much that the average African woman will never even attempt. What can I save you from this time? Do you fear falling into another wadi?"

Suddenly, all the nervousness that she hadn't been feeling before hit her in the stomach. A deep, steadying breath didn't steady her at all. She was too unsettled even to point out that if had not been for his Risian girlfriend, she, her pack and her sleeping bag might never have landed in the seasonal desert pool.

Spock raised an eyebrow as the silence stretched, and Nyota decided to get done with it all at once.

"Me," she told him, slipping into Federation Standard. Some things were too difficult to convey in Vulcan. "I need you to save me from myself — from the giant, goofy nerd that I've been the past two years."

The surprise and confusion were real this time.

"Your height and weight are still somewhat below—"

She cut him off with raised hand.

"I may still be short and skinny, Spock, but I'm growing up!... for _real_ this time. In two months I'll be on my own at the Academy."

"You'll hardly be on your own," he said, also in Standard. It was difficult to see in the rapidly darkening garden, but she was pretty sure he was aiming his version of a mocking grin her way. Equally certain that _he_, at least, could see _her_, she glared.

"You know what I mean!"

.

.

Unfortunately, he knew exactly what she meant. He'd had a similar experience when he'd left Vulcan to attend Starfleet Academy after rejecting the Ministers at the VSA. The human term "fish out of water" did not fully cover his adaptation period, and he'd been nearly three years older than Nyota was now.

For the first time since he'd known her, Spock considered the negative affect he might have had on her life. A Vulcan had been her main source of socialization outside of her family and his own human relatives. At school, she was friendly, but did not have friends. She took the idea of friendship as seriously as a Vulcan might and besides himself, he knew of no others she had granted the title.

Once she arrived at Starfleet Academy, she would have no one to insulate her from the rest of the world. She would need to learn to "fit in." And he would not be there to assist her.

"My ship leaves next month," he told her, "but I will ask some of my colleagues to watch over you when you arrive on campus."

That earned him another glare.

"I don't need babysitters anymore. I told you, I'm growing up!"

Spock sighed, truly confused now.

"Nyota, you know that your uncle is more often away from his home in San Francisco than in residence, so he cannot provide you with the guidance you most likely expected to have.I, too, will be unavailable to make sure that you feel you have at least one friend in Starfleet. You do not wish for me to ask my acquaintances to befriend you. What _would_ you like for me to do?"

.

.

She took another deep breath, and this time felt her self-assurance rushing back. Spock _cared_ for her. He was her best friend. And it really was such a small favor…

"Kiss me," she breathed. Then, before the confidence went back into hiding, she went on in a rush. "I've never had a real one… well none since …_you_ know. And that one didn't really count."

"No!" Spock jumped to his feet and about half a kilometer away before she'd even finished speaking. Well, not really, but it sure _felt_ like half a kilometer. He was far enough from her that she was out of range of the comforting body heat that had lulled her to sleep so often when she was a little girl.

He stared at her through the darkness. She decided she would have felt better if he'd turned his back in consternation. That unwavering gaze, usually so pleasing in the past — a sign that someone was actually paying attention — was unnerving now.

She felt her face heat with delayed embarrassment. There was only one solution to embarrassing moments, she'd learned. It was time to go on the offensive.

"Why not?" she demanded, leaping to her own feet. Not quite as gracefully as Spock had, she knew, but she was satisfied with not falling over. "Am I ugly?"

"Your face will probably be considerably aesthetically pleasing, one day. You bear a strong resemblance to your mother and your sister."

"Does my breath stink? Do _I_ stink?"

Finally closing his eyes, Spock clasped his hands behind his back. _Probably to keep from shaking me_, she figured.

"Both you and your breath are pleasingly aromatic," he sighed.

Nyota stalked closer to him, planting her hands on her small hips when she was a quarter of a meter away. Encouraged when he didn't step back, she glared up at him.

"Then what's wrong with me?"

"You are fifteen years old, Nyota," he said as if the answer was obvious.

"Ye-e-e-s," she agreed, drawing the word out, "like I said, I'm growing up."

.

.

Nyota Uhura was not usually stupid, but Spock couldn't tell if she was being deliberately obtuse, or if she truly did not understand what he was telling her. She stepped even closer to him and the aroma of forest jasmine mixed with spearmint and peppermint — a pleasant blending of the oils produced by his grandfather and her father — suffused the area immediately around them.

_Pleasingly aromatic_, he repeated to himself.

"I am twenty-four," he said aloud.

"I realize that."

"You are a _child_ and I am an adult."

Her eyebrows drew together and he had his answer. She truly hadn't known.

"I. Am. _Not_. A. Child!" She stamped her foot to punctuate her declaration.

He looked pointedly at the ground between them.

"My ancestors were married when they were years younger than I am now. Some women were mothers by the time they were twelve!"

"My ancestors were savages who killed each other at the slightest provocation," he calmly retorted. "Would it be wise for me to revert to their practices?"

Her shoulders slumped and, defeated, she stared at her feet.

"But you _know_ what Jamie Namalenga said after I… I kissed him," she said almost too quietly for him to hear. "And no one has even tried to kiss me since."

"You are several years younger than the other students at the university." He knew from his own years among humans that his words would not be much comfort, but he did not know what else to say.

"Maybe when we get married…" she began. The old joke was reassuring and this time he decided not to naysay her.

"Perhaps _then_ I might kiss you," he said. "But then again, as my work in Starfleet necessitates an ability to communicate verbally, perhaps it would be wiser if I did not."

* * *

Two days before he was due to report to the Marja Sklodowska Spock made his way off-campus and to the small home of the Starfleet officer he trusted most.

He did not consider his mission to be illogical, in spite of the potential consequences of its successful completion. If it ultimately led to a desirable result, he had convinced himself, then whatever small conflict it might incite would be worthwhile. Besides, he did not believe Nyota would remain angry with him for very long — even if she _did_ discover what he was about to do.

After ringing the old-fashioned door-bell, he waited patiently for the front door to open.

His decision had been made hours before, so instead of debating the wisdom of the task before him, he spent the eleven point two seconds he stood alone on the top stair going over the additional supplies he wanted to add to the belongings he'd already decided to take with him on the two-year mission.

Amanda Grayson had made several suggestions which he had not taken the time to consider, let alone dismiss.

_Perhaps_, he thought, _the holos of Mother and Grandfather would be acceptable. I will _not_ take the pictures taken during my time with the Uhura family_. He would not wish for his crewmates to see the smiles and laughter Dr. M'Umbha had occasionally been able to elicit from during the early years.

And then, the door opened, and he immediately focused on the man standing before him.

"Captain Pike," he said, "I have a favor to ask of you."

.

.

Pike eyed Spock speculatively.

"That's a risky move, son," he cautioned. "Defying the wishes of a teenage girl? Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"You have said the same about adult women, numerous times. If I were to interpret your perception of the matter based solely on your advice, I might be excused for assuming that you believe human men and women are locked in an ongoing battle in which men have little hope of victory."

"Can't fault you for being right," Pike said, but smiled to show he was teasing. He hoped the Vulcan got that. "Seriously, though, Spock, teen-aged girls can be dangerous when they think they've been crossed. And if this Nyota is anywhere near as smart as her parents are said to be, you can probably forget hiding this from her."

"Nyota does not have a suspicious nature."

"A couple of months here will change that," quipped Pike. Then, relenting, he said, "Alright, look. I'll have a chat with a friend of mine in Xenolinguistics. Ask him to keep an eye on her. He's mentored a few first-years and seems to actually enjoy it. In fact, he's got a kid around her age, so he might just be perfect."

"You know Commander Bakari well, then?"

Pike wasn't surprised that Spock knew exactly who he'd been referring to. And he wouldn't have been surprised if it turned out the young officer had been leading up to making the same recommendation, himself.

"Faran and I were at the Academy together," he told Spock. "He's a good guy."

"Very well, then," said Spock. "Thank you, Captain."

* * *

Leaving the place that had been home all of her life turned out to be considerably different from heading off to Graysons' Farms for a couple of weeks, or even from traveling to Betazed for a month or six weeks at a time. The day she packed her last bag it occurred to Nyota, for the first time, that for as long as her tenure in Starfleet lasted, she'd be spending more time away from the compound in Garissa than she would spend walking its grounds or sleeping in her small room on the second floor.

Suddenly, everything was more cherished than she'd ever considered it to be before, and she wanted to rush around Baba's gardens, engraving the sight of each flower and tree and shrub into her mind's eye. She wanted to catalog every brown rock and every patch of red soil so that she could travel home whenever the loneliness pressed down on her. She wanted to dip her toes into all seven — even Spock and Lady Amanda had their own — precious pools that graced the gardens set aside as personal spaces for members of the household.

When she set out, her intention had been to save for last her own sacred patch of land, with its small pound teeming with fish and dwarf frogs, and the umbrella thorn whose sturdy trunk had always proved the perfect back when she needed to sit and think. Instead, she found herself avoiding Spock's space — with its exotic plants, contained within brick walls that no one else used to enclose their gardens — until the last possible moment.

By the time she'd thought as much as she could think, and the day was fading into the night.

As she stepped through the opening between the walls, part of her felt like a trespasser; a larger, stronger part of who she was felt welcomed.

The jasmine flowers were just beginning to open. Their heady aroma wrapped around her like a soft blanket, almost instantly calming the anxiety that had plagued her throughout the day.

She drifted over to the olive tree, a lone specimen of the Olivière cultivar that Spock had claimed when her father offered to plot out a garden for the Vulcan pre-teen.

At first, the family — and even Lady Amanda — had wondered what had induced Spock to choose a spot so far from the rest of the family plots. But after he'd built the walls and filled the garden with non-native plants that each had meaning for some Uhura or Grayson — there was even a young Vesuvian there now — it became clear that he'd intended the place to serve as a gift to the people who cared for him.

Jasmine lianas were entwined with the branches of the taller-than-average olive tree. The sweet scent grew stronger as she approached. Then, when she was less than half a meter away, a disembodied voice addressed her.

"Nyota Uhura. Please proceed to the alcove in the northwestern wall," it said. "Nyota Uhura. Please proceed to the alcove in the northwestern wall."

She dashed across the garden, looping around roses planted for Lady Amanda and Romanesco broccoli she suspected were there for her own benefit, dodging the rosemary Baba was so fond of and leaping over the chocolate daisies Muta like to pick on his occasional visits home.

The garden was only fifteen meters wide and she reached the northwestern wall almost before the programmed phrase had finished repeating itself. She stood staring into the deep impression Spock had built into the brick work. The lip of pocket's arch hung down low enough to provide adequate protection from the region's infrequent rains without obscuring any items kept there.

Usually, Spock stored a firepot and meditation incense in the alcove. He had offered her free rein in using them, even though Betazed meditation was significantly different from the Vulcan method. She'd often used them, anyway.

Now, though, the incense and pot were gone. In their place sat something approximately the size of a shoebox and a tightly-rolled scroll of real paper.

Her heart leaped. Hardly _anyone_ bothered using real paper anymore. And certainly not the fancy kind she could see — even in the gathering dark — comprised the scroll.

Carefully, she reached in and removed both box and scroll. She could see then that the firepot had been hidden by the box. Removing the protective screen, she lit the unscented oil inside and set it back in the alcove. Without the screen in place, there was sufficient light for reading.

Settling her back against the wall, she placed the box in her lap and unwrapped the scroll.

Spock had written in a beautiful curving Vulcan script. Letters the color of mahogany seemed to almost dance down the gold-tinged paper.

.

.

_Ne'shau Nyota,_

_I did not wish to leave you with the impression that I did not understand the difficulty of what you are about to undertake. Although you are not leaving your planet, you _are _leaving behind the world you know best, and I will not be there to guide you through the new one. You are entering the world of your adulthood, and the road there can be difficult._

_Kaiidth, Nyota, but you may still have a hand in shaping your new world. _

_While I cannot offer you my physical presence to ease the transition, it is my hope that subspace communications, infrequent though they may be, will offer you some comfort over the next two years. _

_Until you can once again sit beside me and tell me of your troubles and triumphs, I hope that my small gift will serve as a reminder of your home, and of the times when I have been of some assistance. _

_Spock_

.

.

Carefully, Nyota peeled the plain brown protective wrapping away from the little box in her lap. She removed the top and the wooden sides fell flat in a neat array.

Her breath caught as she stared down at what she found inside.

The replica of her "thinking tree" was perfect in almost every detail. Her mind drifted back to that evening, two months before, when she had pleaded with him to help her.

_This_, she decided, running a finger along the knotted trunk, _is almost better than a kiss_.

* * *

**A/N:** Again, thanks to the women of STCC Writers Guild and of Writers Anonymous for reading this chapter so many times, in so many incarnations, over the past few months. Extra purrs to SpockLikesCats for catching those missing words. Again.

Disclaimer: I don't own any Star Trek characters or concepts, and I'm _still_ not profiting from writing about them.


	8. Col3:14

Starfleet Academy was like nothing Nyota had expected. In spite of Spock's warning that her petition to be admitted to regular housing was unlikely to be accepted, she remained surprised to learn Admissions had assigned her a place in a small dormitory administered by the Starfleet Academy Foundation Exemplary Cadets up until the day she moved in.

Her new home was called SAFE Cadets in the official literature, but as she learned soon enough, the rest of the campus had another name for it.

As a SAFE Cadet, Nyota was required to wear an armband declaring her special status, and her movements around the vast, verdant campus were more heavily constrained than those of the already restricted regular-admission cadets.

The bulk of her fellow SAFE Cadets were even younger than she was, and clearly in need of the extra supervision. Most obvious among this number was a thirteen-year-old mathematical genius from Russia with a mop of curly hair and a curious conviction that every significant technological and cultural advance had its roots in his homeland.

His eager-to-please demeanor reminded her of the puppies Upenda had routinely rescued and raised on the family compound before she'd left for medical school. In spite of his annoying propensity for attributing all manner of brilliance and beauty to Russian ancestry _(_according to Cadet Chekov, _every_ famous person had at least a Russian grandmother)_,_ during their four-week orientation period, Pavel was the only person whose company she came close to enjoying.

.

.

_Ne'shau Spock,_

_Please accept my apologies for not contacting you sooner; I thought it wiser to wait until I became accustomed to the routine of Academy life. _

_I am grateful for the gift of my miniature thinking tree. It has been a considerable comfort, and I have made more use of it in the past four weeks than I anticipated._

_Although I am less than a year younger than the age required for regular admittance, I have been housed in the facility established for younger cadets — fondly, or perhaps disparagingly, called "the Nursery" — and will not be able to transfer out until my second year. (I understand Academy regulations must be followed and have decided to trust that neither you nor Uncle Tabansi had anything to do with the making of the decision to keep me here.) _

_Most of the cadets housed here are younger than I am. Pavel Chekov is thirteen years, three months and four days old. As unseemly as it may be, I was comforted to learn he did not complete his university degree before transferring to Starfleet Academy and that he might not be eligible to leave the Nursery before graduation._

_My true journey will begin at last when classes begin tomorrow. As always, I will keep you apprised of my academic progress. In return, please share what you may of your mission._

_As I write, seventy-eight days have passed since you last set foot in Garissa; I have not walked upon its red soil in six weeks and two days._

_Have you made any new friends on your ship? I have not._

_I look forward to our scheduled live communication in one week. Until then, and beyond, _

_Dif-tor heh smusma,_

_Nyota_

.

.

Life on the Marja Sklodowska was almost exactly as Spock expected it to be. As he had imagined, the scientists carrying out various studies and experiments were among the best Starfleet had to offer and he was not averse to admitting, if only to himself, that he was gratified to be counted among their number.

The small crew — fewer than one hundred fifty people, the heavy workload and the relatively short span of time each scientist had to complete their research left little time for the types of social engagements he'd heard were prevalent on exploring ships. Spock was content not to be thrust into situations where his colleagues might mistake his Vulcan reserve for standoffishness and take offense.

.

.

_Ne'shau Nyota,_

"_The Nursery" does not carry the stigma you imagine. Only the most accomplished of candidates are admitted into the Academy before they are sixteen Terran years of age. Few attend before they are eighteen. While jealousy and envy may lead some of your fellow cadets to tease or mock you, in truth, the majority of the Academy community holds to a tradition of admiring and protecting its youngest cadets._

_Our mission remains routine. We have encountered little out of the ordinary in our circuit of the Bracious system. To date, there has been nothing which you would deem "fascinating" to report. _

_However, you might find interesting, on a lesser scale, the experiments I have conducted on subspace communication. I have included a copy of my initial report in the attached file. You will be the first of your department to know what I have learned._

_Although all of my colleagues are quite knowledgeable in their respective fields and several have done notable work, I have not yet "made any new friends" aboard the ship. I will keep you apprised of the situation._

_Please feel free to also inform me of your own social progress, Nyota ndogo. I remain committed to offering you whatever support I might give although I am not there with you._

_As you have undoubtedly already calculated, by the time you receive this communication, I will have been aboard the Marja Sklodowska for ninety-one Solar days and will have been away from Spacedock for eighty-five of those. Do you intend to keep track of my entire mission?_

_Sochya eh dif,_

_Spock _

.

.

Faran Bakari stared across at the compact cadet standing awkwardly at attention. Her dark hair had been tamed into dozens of long, slender braids and gathered neatly at the back of her head. The solemn expression on her face was probably meant to convey respectful interest; long experience with first-year cadets said it was more likely sheer terror.

He noticed a tremor in her left leg and arm. So slight it probably would have been nearly imperceptible to anyone not trained to understand body language as readily as spoken words, the shaking nevertheless made him want to give the girl a break.

"At ease, Cadet," he said, smiling. She couldn't be any older than his Jane. _Younger, even_, he realized after taking a quick glance at her bio. "Sit down, Ms. Uhura."

She sat, _stiffly_, in the chair facing his desk. Her fear was almost visible, emanating from her frozen face and petrified posture. Not exactly what anyone who knew them expected of a Wakufunzi. But something about the set of her chin…

Bakari stole another peek at Nyota Uhura's file, this time zeroing in Chris Pike's note about the girl. Almost instantly, he looked up again to find her still perched straight-backed in her seat.

His smiled broadened, eyes softening. He let his shoulders relax. There was a reason the Academy often sent him the most fragile of first-years. He wasn't about to break his prefect record with this one.

"So," he said, "I hear you're pretty fast on your feet."

.

.

Two hours later, as Nyota skipped back to the Nursery, expending nearly half her energy to keep from breaking into an excited run, she turned her meeting with the handsome commander over in her mind.

How had he managed to make her relax enough to share so much while revealing a few interesting tidbits about his own background — his mother was from Pakistan; his father was a Pakistani/Icelandic mix; a cousin of his had captained the Kelvin on her final, fateful mission) — none of which said much about the man himself? She was pretty sure it part natural talent, but the rest had to be something _she_ could learn to do over the course of her studies. And she meant to learn as much as the Academy would teach.

Nyota's mind drifted back to her mentor's clean-shaven head, his caramel-colored skin, chiseled features and engaging smile. He _was_ handsome — enough to make her stomach flutter when she looked at him, even though he had to be close to Mama's age; he certainly seemed to admire Mama for reasons other than her skills as a linguist and former diplomat.

For that matter, how had he known so much about her in the first place? In her own time, Mama had been somewhat well-known throughout the Federation government agencies — and of course, anyone with an interest in linguistics or xenolinguistics knew of the Wakufunzis — but some of the things in that file Commander Bakari had on his desk had been awfully personal, if somewhat mundane. Surely Starfleet didn't investigate cadet recruits _that_ closely?

Well, no, probably, he was closer to Uncle Tabansi's age. Still too old for Nyota, but he was nonetheless incredibly good-looking.

_Wait a minute_…

Before even she realized she'd started running, Nyota was inside the SAFE Cadet dormitory, headed for her tiny room in the otherwise empty girls' wing.

She needed to research the commander.

.

.

_Kæri Spock,_

_I am learning the Icelandic language as well as culture, although no such course is offered at the Academy. Commander Bakari has been tutoring me. He claims the only persons to have picked up the language faster than me are Uncle Tabansi and a 20__th-__and-21__st__ Century autistic savant and synesthete who, among other achievements, in 2004 also held the European record for the recitation of Pi from memory. _That_ man learned the language in approximately two weeks; Uncle Tabansi became fluent within six weeks. I have been studying it for four point five weeks._

_Commander Bakari adopted his surname when he entered Starfleet. __As the word "bakari" is subject to declension, and as he has no right of inheritance to adopt a family name, he cannot legally use the name in Iceland. __By tradition, and by Icelandic Territory law, in accordance with the United Earth Charter, he should be (and whenever he visits the land of his birth, _is_) known as Faran __Gíslison._

_Nice trick, getting your friend Captain Pike to intervene on your behalf. Although I would be remiss in carrying out my duties as a friend if I declined to point out that as you did not _promise not_ to find a "babysitter" for me, there was no need for Vulcan subterfuge in this matter._

_Perhaps if you invested as much time in forming your own friendships as you did in worrying about mine, you would not be so lonely._

_I miss you, even though I am angry with you._

_I have officially been a Starfleet Cadet for forty-two days._

_Með bestu kveðju_,

_Nyota_

.

.

Spock blinked as he finished translating Nyota's letter. He had known, of course, that by seeking Captain Pike's assistance in securing a suitable mentor for his friend, he'd risked incurring her anger. He had counted, however, on their long acquaintance and her forgiving nature as ameliorating factors should she discover his role in the matter.

"Girlfriend?"

Lieutenant Spock swung around to look at the physicist sitting across the lab. He did not believe the man could read his view screen from four meters away, but he felt a flare of annoyance anyway. He was just about to return to his perusal of Nyota's angry epistle when the memory of admonishments — from both his mother and from Captain Pike — gave him pause.

It was not, as Spock had previously believed, sufficient to merely carry out one's duties in an adequate, or even estimable, fashion. Not while serving on a predominantly human ship. The relatively small crew of a science vessel, the captain (and his mother) had assured him, would oblige him to make an effort to be more "personable" lest crew morale should suffer. He had promised both that he would make such efforts.

Lt. Suarez was a more than competent officer had proven to be a not unpleasant colleague in most instances. He had not protested when Spock had been moved into his laboratory even though their disciplines, on the surface, at least, appeared to be considerably different. Perhaps the human was simply unaware that Vulcans frowned on such personal inquiries. Spock decided to answer him anyway.

"No," Spock said. Then realizing that would probably not be considered an affable response, he added, "Cadet Uhura's parents and mine have been acquainted for more than two decades."

Suarez nodded and his lips stretched into what humans tended to call a "knowing smile."

"Both sets trying to fix you up?"

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Cadet Uhura is fifteen years, six months and twenty-seven days old."

The ensign's smile disappeared as his lips pressed into a firm line.

"Let me guess: you've been cast into the role of 'big brother'?"

Cocking his head, Spock considered Suarez's estimation of the situation.

"That is an accurate assessment," he said eventually. "I have occasionally acted in such a role since she was three years old."

"Yeah, and I bet she was a lot easier to deal with when she was three," Suarez declared. "Teen-agers are the worst! Your formerly sweet, hero-worshipping baby sister suddenly starts getting all moody and the next thing you know she wants to start dating and you're out here on a starship while _she's_ dirtside with who knows what kind of hoodlums hovering arou—"

Breaking off, Suarez smiled a little sheepishly. "Sorry. I've got two little sisters," he explained.

"No apology is necessary," Spock told him. "Your assessments of the behavior endemic to adolescent human females, and of the challenges of playing a fraternal role in the life of one, are also consistent with my experience of them."

He was surprised, but not displeased, when his new lab-mate let out a loud burst of laughter.

.

.

_Kæra Nyota,_

_This correspondence will necessarily be brief, as I am unfamiliar the Icelandic language. I am pleased to learn that you are taking advantage of an unexpected opportunity. _

_Commander Bakari is a friend of Captain Pike's and is also acquainted with your uncle. Both say that he is a good man. _

_I do not regret my part in bringing you to his attention._

_Although there is little difference between the duration of this separation and others we have previously experienced, I have also noticed your absence more acutely this time than I have in the past. _

_I have much in common with one colleague on the ship. Lt. Suarez is my age and has two younger sisters, and although he is strictly a physicist by training, many of our scientific interests overlap._

_One hundred sixteen days have passed since you requested a kiss._

_Kveðja_,

_Spock_

.

.

Faran Bakari kept his promises. Once Cadet Uhura had settled into attending her classes and tutoring sessions, and had established her study routine, he encouraged her to meet with Jane Faransdóttir and arranged for the first of many off-campus passes for the young cadet.

Spock kept his own promises and remained open to associating with more colleagues on the Marja Sklodowska, but, beyond a growing camaraderie with Lt. Suarez, was less successful in his endeavors.

.

.

_Heshima Spock,_

_If you are truly my friend, you will never mention that night again! (Unless, of course, it is on our wedding day and you refer to it as you apologize for taking so long to see reason.) _

_Your other transgression is forgiven; I understand that affection prompted you to ignore my wishes. _

_This time, you happened to be correct. Commander Bakari is a good mentor. He is the friendliest and most personable officer I have met here, so far. He has even promised to introduce me to his daughter, Jane. She is just three months older than I am._

_I cannot give an equally favorable endorsement for the others I have met on campus. _

_While you were right about the way most people at the Academy view Nursery cadets, sometimes I _Hear_ the displeasure of my classmates when I succeed where they fail. It can be very disheartening. _

_It is not my fault that all Wakufunzis train almost from birth to be what we are, to know what we know. However, I am not the same person I was one hundred twenty days ago. I will not allow myself to succumb to despair, but it is difficult to remain cheerful under the circumstances._

_Pavel Chekov continues to talk too much, but when he receives his weekly "care-package" (weekly!) he shares his chocolate with me. I have only known him seventy days, but already I begin to wonder if Penda and Mu saw _me_ as I see _him_. _

_Amani na yadumu_,

_Nyota_

.

_Heshima Nyota,_

_It would be unwise to so distance yourself from who you once were that you forget the consequences of your previous actions and end up repeating them. I will say nothing further on the matter in _this _message. _

_If I interpreted your allusions correctly, you claim to have attained a greater measure of wisdom than you possessed at the time of the incident __of __which I have been ordered not speak. You should hold fast to this new maturity as you navigate unfamiliar social situations. I am increasingly confident that you will find your way. _

_Your early education may have given you an advantage to begin with, but now you must build upon that base. Just as it is incumbent upon your classmates to increase their own talents and skills._

_In related news, Lt. Suarez and I have begun a subspace-physics research project to examine three of the hypotheses you mentioned during our last voice communication. We have had to alter several of your parameters, but the essential tenets of your conjecture remain at the core of our experimentation. _

_I cannot accurately predict the duration of the project, as Lt. Suarez and I are completing it during our very limited "spare time," however, in the five Terran weeks that have passed since we began working together, I believe we have made acceptable progress._

_Kuishi kwa muda mrefu na kufanikiwa,_

_Spock_

* * *

Shopping was Jane Faransdóttir's favorite pastime. Showing off the city of her birth came in a close second, but she found the most joy in buying clothes and jewelry and make-up. She was happier still, she learned after her father entrusted his newest protégée into her care, when teaching someone else to love what she loved.

"This would look great on you, Nyota!" The tall, dark-haired beauty held a deep orange sweater near the young cadet's face. "See how it echoes the undertones of your skin? You've got a lot of red and yellow going on there. Which is perfect because Nyota is a really orange name. Most people don't look like their names, you know."

Jane could tell from the befuddled look on the younger girl's face that she _didn't_ know, and took a moment to debate with herself over the best way to explain. Her hesitation cost her the chance to say anything at all.

"You are synesthete?" asked the lanky boy who lived in Nyota's dorm and who seemed to follow the girl _everywhere_. "Synesthesia vas discowered by Russian psychologist in eighteen hundreds.. Wery interesting condition!"

"Humans have been talking about it since the ancient Greeks," Jane corrected, cutting her eyes at the annoying creature. He didn't seem to notice.

"Vhat color is Pavel Andreievich?" he wanted to know.

"Yellow and purple — which would look _ridiculous_ on you," she replied and focused on Nyota again. "And 'Wangari' is green, which is lucky because it goes well with orange. Maybe we can find some green leggings or a skirt to go with this."

Nyota's face twisted doubtfully. "Won't that make me look like a pumpkin?"

"With your figure?" Jane cast an appraising eye over the bony girl; she was all knees and elbows. "Not a chance! But, um, maybe we should look for brown, instead. Uhura is a brown word. Sort of chestnutty…"

.

.

Tired and laden with bags full of thick tights and warm tops, Nyota was contemplative as the trio walked down shop-lined streets on their way back to the hover-shuttle station. She'd come to enjoy spending her free days with the fast-talking Jane Faransdóttir. Her mentor's daughter knew San Francisco better than a lot of tour guides, and had guided her charges to the best shops their limited budgets could manage.

Even the seemingly inexhaustible Pavel Chekov had used up considerable energy once he'd found things he wanted to buy. He hadn't needed the cold weather clothing Nyota required, but Jane had directed him to a store that sold enough data strips filled with old lectures on twenty-four-dimensional space to keep him from talking their ears off for the foreseeable future.

At least, Nyota _hoped_ his preoccupation would last that long. She thought of the times when Upenda and Muta had complained of her garrulous nature and had to stifle a shudder that was half guilt and half horror.

_I was never _that_ bad_, she told herself, then turned her thoughts to more pleasant discoveries.

Jane was turning out to be a treasure-trove — and not just for her skill at navigating the world of retail. Even without a Wakufunzi talent, she picked up languages and understood speech almost as easily as Nyota — the commander's daughter could even understand Pavel when he became excited and nearly incomprehensible.

"Goes with the synesthesia. Words have colors, you know? Even when Garble-tongue is talking. I get it from Pabbi, I guess," she said with a dismissive shrug. "Kind of useless for me, though. Everybody in fashion speaks Standard."

"Still, that's pretty amazing," Nyota breathed. "Think about it! Induced synesthesia could be developed into a tool for teaching language. It could help beings who might not otherwise be able to learn. It could possibly help _anyone_ learn more easily."

"Already been tried. Pabbi wrote a paper on it ages ago," Jane said offhandedly as she stopped to inspect a display of eyeliners. "You should try some of this. Your eyes are probably your best feature right now and you need to play them up. And you should talk to Pabbi about induced synesthesia; he told Mamma he's thinking about starting trials again."

Nyota reached over and selected a random liner.

"I will!" she declared, and started towards the payment kiosk. "And I'll talk to Commander Bakari, too."

Jane snatched the liner from her hand before she'd moved three steps.

"Not _that_ black," the older girl said. "It's all wrong for you. Buy this one."

.

.

_Ne'shau Spock,_

_Flattery is illogical._

_Do not give credit where none is due. I based those theories on the observation notations from a paper your father wrote during his secondary education._

_Please Spock, I do not wish to stand out more than I already do. Allow me to complete the remaining one hundred fifteen days of the academic year without calling further attention to myself._

_Sochya eh dif,_

_Nyota_

.

.

_Ne'shau Nyota,_

_The human inventor, Thomas Edison, once said: _"Genius is one percent inspiration, ninety-nine percent perspiration."

_I am aware of the source that inspired your conjecture. _

_My father, however, did not make the "giant leap" you made in considering its potential for application in communication technology. Further, because they were not of interest to him, he failed to pursue that course even in the areas where he saw possible benefits._

_You should and shall be acknowledged for utilizing your human genius. If you wish to accomplish the goals you have often spoken of, you must be allow your talents be recognized.  
_

_I doubt, however, that Lieutenant Suarez and I will have secured enough data to write anything of interest in the ninety-four days remaining before the end of term._

_Dif-tor heh smusma,_

_Spock_

.

* * *

.

_Dearest Spock,_

_You were wrong; I found your report to be _completely_ fascinating. Imagine the implications your findings, should they prove to withstand peer review, will have on my field! _

_I would apologize for my exuberance, but your report gives a measure of credence to another theory I postulated in my Subspace Physics class three days ago. Professor Cowan dismissed my idea as "the unfounded dreams of a little girl." He said this in front of the entire class. I thought everyone would laugh at me, but instead, I later received several invitations to join study groups. Although I had to refuse most of these because of the restrictions put on Nursery School inmates, it was gratifying to see that you were correct: for the most part, the Academy admires and protects us._

_Commander Bakari continues to be pleased with my progress and has spoken to the Nursery house-parents about excusing me from some of the restrictions. He said that I am a "natural" for the long-range sensor lab. (It seems "those ears!" Mama so often lamented are good for something besides accidental eavesdropping.) He would like to begin training me for my own observation shift. I will not, of course, be eligible until — at the very earliest — my second year, but he believes that I can get a monitored shift as soon as I return from the February/March break and I am sixteen._

_Spock, I _love _being in Starfleet._

_For as long as I can remember, I have always been in awe of the possibilities of language. I reveled in the idea that what is possible — even _easy_ — to say in one tongue might be difficult or impossible to convey in another. Words come to me almost effortlessly — because of my gift and because of who I am._

_I could do as so many Wakufunzis before me have done and remain on Earth and become an academic, or serve on other worlds in the Diplomatic Corps, and I would still have words._

_In Starfleet, I have learned that there is so much more that interests me. I once thought of the tools of a communications officer as simply that, tools. I was surprised to find that I am _fascinated _by those tools and that I _work well _with them!_

_Uncle Tabansi teases me about breaking records that still stand from the days when he and Commander Bakari were at the Academy. (Did you know that they were great rivals?) I may shatter those records — I have already surpassed a few of them — but _I _am my only competitor, now, Spock. The only past performances I wish to improve upon are my own. _

_I've come to realize that my original desire to "see the stars" was borne of a wish to be like Uncle Tabansi and his Estella — much as I wanted to be like Mama and Baba. Now that I am learning so much about the universe, however, I find myself ever eager to learn _more_._

_Before, I didn't really know why I wanted to explore space — I was caught up in the romanticism of the lives of the people who I most admired, and a need to follow in their footsteps. _

_Far away dreams of falling in love while seeing the universe are not enough for me anymore. I need to forge my own path now, seek my own knowledge and find ways for those who come behind me to travel an easier road. _

_Starfleet is the vehicle that will take me on that journey, and I am immensely grateful for the opportunity._

_Perhaps you'll think I am being overly emotional over what is, essentially, merely an occupation, but I finally know what I want to do with my _life_ — not just for my career._

_Your mission is now two hundred five days old._

_Your Nyota_

_P.S. Commander Bakari's daughter has been most welcoming._

_Jane Faransdóttir (unlike her father, she adheres to traditional Icelandic naming convention) has been showing me around San Francisco. Thanks to her thorough knowledge of, and her enthusiasm for, the city, I shall be able to ensure Sarah and Uncle Sam have an enjoyable visit next weekend._

.

.

Pride was a dangerous emotion, and yet a predilection towards honesty forced Spock to admit that he was proud of the person Nyota Uhura was becoming.

According to Surak, there could be no shame in truth. Without truth, there was no possibility of enlightenment. The unenlightened could not find the peace of logical thinking.

Emotion not honestly acknowledged could not be mastered.

.

.

_My Dearest Nyota,_

_It pleases me to learn that you are now intrigued by your chosen field for reasons unrelated to anything save genuine curiosity. I do not find your new-found passion to be over-emotional in any way. In fact, I applaud your devotion to your studies. _

_I do wonder, however, what Jamie Namalenga would say if he were to learn that his role has been usurped by the allure of becoming a communications officer._

_The Marja Sklodowska is scheduled to return to Spacedock in five hundred thirty-one days. I believe we will each have much to share with one another when that times comes._

_Your Spock_

* * *

Amanda stared at the image of her son on the comm screen. She told herself she probably should have expected the request, but that didn't stop her mind from whirling in shock.

"Are you certain this is what you want?"

"It is not a question of _want_, Mother," Spock replied, his face holding that special brand of careful neutrality that told Amanda he had already shared more than his Vulcan-bred sense of propriety normally allowed. "I will need a mate, and I cannot look for one myself at this time."

"Even if you wait until you return to Earth, two years can be a very long time if you—" She cut herself off. Her very private son wouldn't have come to her if he wanted to find a new bondmate on his own. "Yes, sa-fu. I will begin searching immediately."

"I would like you to consider Nyota, as well," he added without inflection. The extra placidity he'd imbued in his tone told her he knew she might take issue with the request.

"Nyota?" Confused, Amanda frowned.

"She will have already passed her seventeenth birthday by the time I return," he pointed out, obviously mistaking the reason for his mother's surprise. "By United Earth law, she will be an adult."

Amanda paused to draw in a deep breath before speaking again. Switching to Vulcan would force her to use more precise language. The rest of this conversation could be… delicate.

"Spock, you know that I will support you in whatever path your life takes, but I am unsure that considering Nyota for such a role is wise. She might not be… suited to… to becoming a Vulcan's mate."

"On the contrary, I can think of no one better suited to the position. Nyota possesses all that I require in a mate," he pointed out. "She is intelligent and strong-minded. In the short time she has been at the Academy, her independence has increased. Perhaps most significantly, since she is already well acquainted with me and has an understanding of Vulcan mores, she will not have unreasonable expectations of our marriage. It would be illogical to search for women who also possess these qualities while disregarding her as a possibility."

Amanda hesitated as her mind worked to find the words to express her concerns. She didn't want to discourage her only child's search for a bondmate — finding one might be the only thing that kept him alive, but Nyota…

"She is human, sa-fu. She's warm and vibrant and full of emotion," she said gently. "Her needs will be different from a Vulcan woman's. A human mate might be what is best for her."

"A human mate might prove to be an impossibility for her," Spock insisted, either oblivious to, or uncaring of, the sentiment behind Amanda's argument. "First, human males are illogically preoccupied with aesthetically pleasing physical features, which she currently lacks.

"Second, even if she one day more strongly resembles her mother and sister, it is likely that she will continue to perceive that lack, rather than the truth. I have observed that a belief in one's own beauty has a great deal of influence on the human females' ability to attract mates."

Knowing that continuing in the same vein would only lead to exasperation, Amanda decided concession was her best option for the time being.

"I will add her to any list I compile, Spock, but I continue to believe she will require more than a _logical_ incentive before she will agree to a bonding."

Silently, Amanda pleaded with her son to understand her insinuation. At last, some spark of comprehension appeared to penetrate the inscrutable mask. Spock blinked and then raised a single eyebrow.

"If you truly think Nyota will find me... unsatisfactory, Mother," he retorted dryly — in Standard, "then perhaps the thought of her suffering my unwanted suit will inspire you to redouble your efforts in searching for an alternative."

* * *

_Dearest Spock,_

_I received another commendation this week. This time it was for noting a small, but crucial error in the language of a speech Professor S'kuth prepared for Commodore Arwen to give at a reception commemorating the fifteenth anniversary of Ardana__'s__ acceptance into the Federation. _

_As I said, the error was minor by human standards, but would have caused great offense to the Ardanan_ _people. It was also an easy-enough mistake to make; the two words have nearly the same meaning._

_Reviewing the speech was merely part of my tutorial with Commander Bakari. Because of the expectations of Mama's family, the error was glaringly obvious to me. Any Wakufunzi over the age of eight could have made the correction in her sleep. _

_I do not wish to call attention to myself, and the commander has agreed to be discreet about the commendation. _

_Fortunately, I leave for break tomorrow. When I return, I will only have two hundred sixty-seven days of freedom before you are here to chastise me in person._

_Yours in excruciating embarrassment,_

_Nyota._

.

_My Nyota,_

_Congratulations on receiving your fifth commendation. I will not repeat the advice of your babu, but I will remind you that embarrassment is a wasteful emotion._

_Accept these acknowledgments of your accomplishments as your due, Nyota ndogo; they are merely Starfleet's standard method of recognizing commendable achievements. _

_It is, indeed, unusual, although not previously unheard of, for a cadet to be promoted to ensign before graduation. It is more likely to occur in cases such as yours: when the cadet in question has completed an advanced degree prior to entering the Academy._

_It is my duty as your friend, and as a mentor of sorts, to caution you: if you continue to perform at your current exemplary level, you may be in danger of achieving the rank of lieutenant before receiving your first assignment._

_I expect to see you in two hundred thirty-two days._

_Your Spock_

* * *

One week after returning three days early from the second-term break, Nyota lounged in the SAFE Cadet common room, already consumed with studying.

Her Russian shadow sat on the floor, head resting on the sofa near her feet and knees braced against a table. He occasionally called out facts from the compilation of notable tactical maneuvers he was reading, while she tried without much success to ignore him.

"Did you know that General Abraham Uhura vas Russian? He is an ancestor of yours, yes?"

"He was Baba's great-great-great-great uncle. And his great-grandmother emigrated from Ukraine. Not _everything_ good came from Russia, Pav," she noted in what she hoped sounded like an off-hand voice. "Don't answer if you think I'm getting too personal, but where are _you_ from? Where did you _really _grow up?"

"Vhat do you mean?" The boy seemed genuinely confused. "I am born and raised in St. Petersburg — most beautiful city on Earth!"

When she glanced over and caught the proud smile on his sweet face, she almost regretted what she was about to say. Almost.

"I mean, all year I've been wondering about your inability to differentiate between the letters "W" and "V" when pronouncing any words other than your given name and your patronymic."

"Miss Uhura," Pavel began hesitantly, "may _I_ ask _you_ a personal question?"

She looked up from her PADD again and rolled her eyes at the SAFE Cadet resident nuisance.

"Sure."

His rapidly reddening face suggested the query was probably one she didn't want to hear. Nyota wondered whether anger or embarrassment was the cause.

"Vhat heppined to your face?"

Anger, then.

"What are you talking about, Pavel?" she asked through clenched teeth.

"Vell," he said, "before break, you did not look so… so — you look different now."

"Oh?" Swinging her legs from the sofa to the floor, she raised a single eyebrow and stared at the other teen until he started to tremble. "What exactly do you mean by that? _How_ do I look different."

She didn't really need him to tell her — she hadn't missed the stares thrown her way ever since she'd returned from the month-long break — but no one else had openly acknowledged that the subtle changes she'd been undergoing over the past year were now glaringly apparent, and she was dying to know how Cadet Chekov would bumble through his explanation.

"You are… you are wery beautiful now, Miss Uhura," he told her. "Not that you vere ugly before… I mean.." He trailed off, cocking his head a little and studying her more intently. "You do not really look _that_ different. But it is still a _good_ different, понимаете?"

Her brows drew together in a deeper frown. Fear rolled off the boy in waves, but Nyota didn't abandon her relentless stare.

Pavel scrambled to his feet and banged his knee against the coffee table in his effort to put distance between them. He started backing out of the room, nearly stumbling over an ottoman on his way.

Nyota couldn't continue frowning. Sometimes, he really _was_ like one of Upenda's puppies. Suddenly, she felt her lips stretching into a wide smile.

"Thank you, Pavel," she called before he disappeared through the doorway.

"You are wery, wery velcome, Miss Uhura," Chekov said, offering her a sloppy grin of his own before he turned and practically ran out of the room.

Still smiling to herself, Nyota swung her legs back onto the sofa and finished reading her History of Engineering text.

* * *

.

* * *

Six hundred and eighty-three days after the Marja Sklodowska left Spacedock and embarked on a mission that was supposed to last two years, Nyota Uhura sat in the long-range sensor lab, her extraordinarily sensitive ears attuned to the chatter of space and the ships that made their ways through it. Faran Bakari sat two consoles away from her, even though she had been approved for an unmonitored shift more than eight months before.

She turned to look at her mentor but his face swam before her eyes as she realized he'd just picked up the same distress signal she hoped she hadn't heard. She also knew he probably hadn't been able to decipher the details she'd been able work out.

"Sir," she croaked. Then, clearing her throat, she began again. "Sir, the Marja Sklodowska was caught in some kind of energy expulsion as they left the Bracious system. There were… injuries and their main engines were damaged."

"Extent of damage?"

"Unknown, sir."

"Current propulsion capabilities?"

"Unknown."

"Number of casualties? Severity of injuries?"

"Unknown and… unknown."

.

.

"You have a friend on board?" Commander Bakari asked, even though he already knew the answer. Nyota Uhura was always at her best when she was working, and she often worked best when she something to say.

"My… Spock," she whispered, unshed tears blurring her eyes.

Bakari managed — only just — to swallow any audible representation of his frustrated surprise, although he wasn't convinced Cadet Uhura hadn't picked up on it anyway. Even under duress, she could read people almost as well as he could.

Chris had never told him Nyota was in love with his young protégé. He thought of his own Jane and instantly regretted his harsh judgment of the situation. Lieutenant Spock had been this girl's idol since she was three years old; if Jane had had a similar hero who suffered a similar fate, he would be offering comfort, no matter how much he disapproved.

"Crying will do him no good right now, Ensign," he told her. "You're an officer first, friend much later. If they — if they don't come out of this, _then_ you can cry. Right now we need to make sure they get some help."

* * *

**A/N:** Translations for the Icelandic and Swahili come from Google Translator, the Wikipedia talk pages and the Kamusi Project. The Russian is a poor guess on my part.

For my English-speaking readers: If you're most familiar with the KJV, I suggest that for this chapter, you might want to seek out a more contemporary translation of the title passage.

Disclaimer: I don't own any Star Trek characters or concepts, and I'm _still_ not profiting from writing about them.


	9. SoS7:6—9

Ignoring a sensation that was equal parts trepidation and anticipation, Spock opened Nyota's most recent message. Avoiding her was more difficult than he had anticipated.

_More than five days of the eight days he'd spent on Earth since his return had been taken up by Starfleet business which kept him from communicating with anyone other than his examiners — physical, mental/emotional and legal — yet eluding Nyota's persistent attempts to meet with him was a challenge._

_His first instincts, upon being excused from further interrogation at Headquarters, were to access the cadet's schedule and then wait at an appropriately secluded point along a route she would take from one class to another. The "surprise meeting" would please her, he'd determined. Humans enjoyed surprises that were pleasant in nature._

_But when an unfamiliar figure with an unmistakable graceful stride had emerged from Engineering Building G, he'd abandoned his careful plans._

_Although he was far enough away to strain even a Vulcan's acute vision, he'd had no doubt about what he was seeing. The three male cadets following in Nyota's wake, calling out to her in cajoling voices even after she'd turned and rejected their offers to accompany her out for the evening, were sufficient indication of that he was right._

_"Maybe next time, guys," she'd yelled across the green separating the Martinet Linguistics Building from Engineering Building G. "I'm waiting for important news about a good friend."_

_Spock had left his place in the shadows near the entrance to the building while her head was still turned._

He'd ignored her attempts to contact him since then.

Messages one and two, hastily scribbled on a PADD and transmitted to his electronic address, had inquired about his condition, asked when he excepted to leave Medical and requested a response as soon as he was capable of giving one.

The third and fourth attempts had been delivered via communicator and allowed Spock to observe an agitation in her tone that had been missing the day before.

_This_ message — the fifth message in fewer than half as many days — was considerably harder to dismiss.

"This is unfair, Spock! I _know_ you received my notes and calls. Is something wrong? Are you okay?" she asked. "You can tell me. You know that. Stop shutting me out."

The video communication left him in no doubt that she was concerned about his well-being… and distressed over his continued silence.

"They released you from Medical, so I _know_ you weren't gravely injured," she went on, her voice — and her invitingly full lower lip — trembling in spite of the knowledge she claimed. "But I'm still… I'm still worried.

"Why haven't you come to see me? Why won't you let me see you? I don't even know where you're quartered…" Her voice trailed off, and she swiped at her eyes with a quivering left hand.

She inhaled deeply. He could clearly see the expansion of her chest.

"I mean it, Spock! Contact me." Although for an instant her face was contorted with anger, that did not diminish the irrefutable visual evidence.

His eyes had _not_ deceived him three days ago: Nyota was beautiful. And other men found her desirable.

He was ill-equipped to effectively manage this change in circumstance.

Confirmation had brought with it full comprehension of what his grandparents had been hinting at — in that frustratingly oblique way of humans — during their final conversation before disaster had struck the Marja Sklodowska.

.

"_Will you pass a request on to Grandmother?" Spock asked his grandfather. Although the officer usually reserved each month's fifteen minute allotment of video communication for contacting his mother, he'd deemed this conversation sufficiently important to alter that habit. _

_Absalom looked beyond the comm screen at the sound of a swinging door and said, "Why don't you ask her yourself? It's for you, Ruthie."_

_Ruth Grayson usually spent more time in her studio, closed off from outside communication, than she did in the rest of the farmhouse. Though her presence in her husband's office was unexpected, Spock was pleased that he would not need his grandfather to act as an intermediary._

_His grandmother expressed her delight more exuberantly._

"_Spock!" she cried out as she moved around the desk to face the comm. "I'm so happy to see you!" She sat in the chair Grandfather had not quite vacated. "Now, what can this old lady do for her handsome grandson?"_

"_I need a betrothal gift, Grandmother," he explained. "I believe jewelry is usually considered appropriate." _

"_I didn't think you'd been in touch with some of the women Amanda found." Absalom Grayson, sitting on the chair's arm with an arm around his wife, frowned in confusion. "Wouldn't it be better to wait until you actually _see_ a few of them? What if the one you choose doesn't like your gift?"_

_Using her elbow, Grandmother struck Grandfather in his abdominal area._

"_Don't be so dense, dummy!" she said, her affectionate tone no doubt intended to turn the invective into an endearment. "This is for our little Ennie."_

_From the look Grandfather bestowed on her, Spock deduced that her effort was successful. _Humans,_ he thought, wondering if he should expect similar abuse from his own future mate._

"_Grandmother is correct; the gift is intended for Nyota," Spock put in, hoping to avoid any further unseemly displays (there were some behaviors a grandson should not be forced to witness). "And I would prefer that Mother not know about it yet. She might be… unintentionally indiscreet." _

"_See?" Grandmother's teeth gleamed as she grinned up at Grandfather in triumph. Her smile turned…loving? proud? when she turned to Spock. "I _knew_ you'd do the right thing."_

_Grandfather's brow furrowed, indicating further confusion. "Indiscreet?" he asked as if Grandmother had not spoken. "Who do you think Amanda's gonna tell that Nyota hasn't already told?" _

"_Nyota is not yet aware of my decision," Spock told him. "She was, in fact, never made aware that there was a decision to be made. I saw no reason to inform her when she was one choice among many. Now that she is to be my mate, I intend to inform her once she has graduated from the Academy."_

_He looked at his grandmother. "Will two years be sufficient time for you to design and craft something that she will find pleasing?" _

"_No worries, handsome," Grandmother assured him. "I've already got something ready. I've been waiting for this day. She's going to _love _it!"_

_Spock arched an eyebrow; __Ruth Grayson was an exceptional artist, but she did not suffer from hubris. Nor would she make unwarranted claims when speaking to _him_.__ "I was not aware you and Nyota had become so closely acquainted that you could so confidently declare her preference."_

"_Of course we're close, Spock!" Grandmother exclaimed. "She's been coming her every summer for the last six years. And a couple of weekends, too, now that she's in San Francisco. Unlike _some _people, she doesn't mind visiting an old artist in her studio." _

_Spock opened his mouth to deny her insinuation that he did not enjoy his grandmother's company, but before he could speak, Grandfather bent, placing his lips against her ear._

"_Ruthie, maybe you—" he said in a low voice. He broke off and looked up, his cheeks coloring as if he suddenly recalled his grandson's Vulcan hearing._

_Although Absalom did not continue his thought, Spock sensed his disapproval. He spoke again only after a silence that lasted long enough to leave even Spock uncomfortable._

"_Son, I know your mother told you about her concerns," Grandfather stated. "I'm going to be blunt here, Spock. Human women need love—"_

"_Nyota's needs will not go unmet," Spock broke in, hoping Absalom would not ask him to elaborate. _

"_See?" Grandmother said, jabbing Grandfather a second time._

_Spock nodded to her in gratitude, but her husband appeared to be undeterred._

"_Still, son, I'm not sure it's wise for you to wait until she graduates," Absalom cautioned. "What if she says 'no'? You won't have much time…"_

"_I do not believe she will refuse me."_

_Grandfather's eyes widened slightly before narrowing into the expression Spock recognized as a prelude to a lecture. While he'd never been on the receiving end of one of Absalom Grayson's "dressing downs," Spock had had ample opportunity to observe his cousins enduring them._

"_When was the last time you actually _saw _Nyota?" _

"_Abi!" This time, Grandmother's elbow impacted with Grandfather's side just as her smile turned into a glare. For a moment, Spock was reminded of Nyota._

"_We were last together a month before I reported to the Marja Sklodowska," he told them, but his mind was focused on a small girl, stamping her foot and demanding kisses. Now that she had reached her majority, there was no reason not to grant her wish…_

"_Isn't it odd that she never established visual contact in all that time?" Grandfather's voice interrupted his reverie, and Spock returned his focus to the comm screen. "She's a communications major. She has to know how. And, well, even if she didn't, _you_ do, don't you?"_

"_Cadets have limited access to full subspace channels. It would have been far more logical for her to utilize her allotted time to contact Mother — who, as a human, required visual confirmation of her well-being. As I did not need that, it would not make sense for her to contact me in that way."_

_Grandmother's mouth fell open in a surprise. "You haven't seen her since you left?" she asked. After exactly two point five seconds had passed, she stood, patted Grandfather's shoulder and addressed Spock again. "I've had something that will be perfect for Ennie just waiting for you to say the word. I'll send you holos and you can tell me what you think. Meanwhile, I think you and your grandpa need to talk."_

_Her husband shook his head as she left the room, but then the frown was replaced with a small smile Spock wasn't able to decipher. It was almost… secretive. _

_Sliding back into his chair, Absalom rested his forearms on his desk and silently studied Spock._

"_I know you believe that some of the ways we humans make our decisions are illogical," he eventually said, the smile still evident even as he adopted a serious tone of voice, "but I'd like you to consider a little advice from your old grandpa. There's a saying 'Don't count your chickens before they hatch.' You might not be familiar with the saying— " _

"_I am familiar with the expression and with its intended meaning," Spock assured him. "Indeed, I am inclined to believe that if more humans followed that tenet, there would be fewer conflicts. In regards to Nyota, however, I remain convinced that this is the correct decision. She has showed no sign that her regard for me has lessened during our separation, and she has formed no new significant attachments."_

.

Spock closed Nyota's fifth message and quickly entered a code into the comm.

"Grandfather," Spock said as soon as Absalom's face appeared, "I find that I am once again in need of your assistance."

Absalom's flash of concern was subdued after only a moment's effort, but not before his grandson had taken note of it. "What can I do for you, son?"

"It seems I have 'counted my chickens' too hastily."

The smile spreading quickly across his grandfather's face was reassuring.

"Well," Abi told him, "there are still a few things you can do about that."

* * *

"We need to talk." Christopher Pike shouldered past Spock and into the lieutenant's apartment quarters.

In the three minutes which had elapsed since Grandfather had bid him farewell Spock had neither formulated a plan of action, nor decided to contact Nyota without any plan at all; Christopher Pike's unannounced arrival ensured he would not immediately be able to devote more time to the dilemma.

The captain led the way into Spock's common room and took a seat at the small table near the entrance to the kitchenette. He motioned for Spock to sit across from him before revealing the purpose of his visit.

"They're not ready to make an official announcement, but Command has completed the first part of their investigation." The captain propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on laced fingers. "You and Suarez are in the clear — you're even likely to get bumped up a rank or two for what you did. That's the _good_ good news."

"There is such a thing as _bad_ good news?"

Pike's lips twitched up. He leaned forward slightly. "Depends on who's the one receiving the news. And I've got a feeling you won't like what I'm about to tell you." Leaning back again, he studied the half-Vulcan lieutenant. "You need to watch who catches you playing the hero, Spock. Prestige doesn't come without a price."

"Sir," Spock began, "if you would speak plainly..."

"They want to keep you dirtside, Spock," he said, his voice indicating there would be little if any room for negotiation. "I know you wanted another go at the Marja, but you're not going to get it. Davidson wants you on-hand to continue programming the Kobayashi Maru. A couple of department heads have expressed an interest having you teach. And I want you ready to be my first officer."

"The decisions are final?"

Pike's posture lost a measure of rigidity, and his expression softened. That almost-smile flickered across his lips again.

"Nothing's final except the fact that you won't be getting back on your ship," he promised. "And maybe Davidson's test. You've got a little leeway in teaching assignments; like I said, a few departments have expressed interest — but the deans don't necessarily remember that your Vulcan endurance probably would let you take on a larger course-load.

"And you can tell me 'no.' Though I'd rather you didn't."

Spock watched Pike as closely the captain observed him. Nothing in the man's expression suggested a correct answer.

"How long do I have before I must make a decision?"

"I want your answer sooner rather than later, but I'm willing to wait. You should start reviewing the other offers over the next few days."

He held Spock's gaze for another nine seconds. Then his demeanor changed. His shoulders stiffened again, becoming even more rigid than they had been earlier. A frown drew his brows together.

Spock lifted an inquiring brow.

"Now that that's settled," he said tightly, "there's something else we need to talk about."

Not at all enlightened, Spock kept his face impassive. Surely whatever else the captain thought needed to be addressed could not be as important as the decisions Spock was already facing.

"You've got a cadet problem and you need to deal with it," Pike accused. "Also sooner rather than later, Spock. A lot of people have big hopes for Nyota Uhura and she can't afford to start fucking up because you can't get your shit together. "

Christopher Pike shared a short history of exactly why upsetting Nyota had the potential to upset senior Academy faculty, and Spock realized how much more important _this_ discussion might be.

Cadet Uhura, it seemed, was an exemplary student who didn't try to flout Academy rules as several of her more peripheral associates had been known to do. Her assignments were always turned in on time and complete — more often, they were early and with extra-credit work attached — for even her most difficult classes. No one had ever found her outside her dorm after curfew, roaming the campus grounds or haunting the bars that dotted the streets surrounding Starfleet's high walls like a multitude of satellites in the night sky.

When she _did_ visit such establishments, her alcohol consumption remained well within the parameters United Earth law deemed allowable for humans in Starfleet who had "passed his or her sixteenth birthday, but have not yet reached his or her eighteenth birthday."

"She's only been involved in one questionable incident since she's been here," Pike went on, "and according to all accounts, even that wasn't her fault."

By the time she was sixteen, Spock learned, Nyota had become a recruiter's poster girl and was, in fact, frequently invited to participate in recruiting tours. While on just such a trip less than two weeks before the commencement of her second year, she been the catalyst for a major brawl in an Iowan bar.

"For the past week, she's been banging down Commander Bakari's door, trying to find out what's going on with you. _He_, in turn, has been haranguing me for information.

"I don't know what's going on between you and Cadet Uhura, but you need to handle it soon. She's scheduled to leave for an internship on Ardana in three days and Bakari is afraid she might try to back out if this isn't settled."

Spock stared at the stern face of the man who had reached out to help him during his first year at the Academy. He owed Christopher Pike a debt of loyalty. He owed Nyota much more than that.

"I will speak with Cadet Uhura before she leaves," he promised.

.

.

Nyota's arms were around him before he had a chance to speak.

He'd told her she didn't need to come, knowing she would ignore that. Reminding himself of her youth and likely lack of experience, he fought the hot rush of blood her touch inspired.

Their previous physical contact had not prepared him for what the feel of her face pressed into the space between his neck and shoulder did to him. He had not anticipated the experience of her body melting into his, while her arms clung to him in a fervent display of the emotions she hadn't bothered to hide.

_fear… _overlaid with

_relief… _touched by

_embarrassment_

all colored by something stronger than the deep affection she'd offered so freely from the first day they'd met. Deeper now… matured… ingrained.

The knowledge flamed a possessive desire in him.

He felt the embrace weaken as she prepared to move away and his arms snaked around her, maintaining the proximity that suddenly seemed as necessary as oxygen to his well-being.

Burying his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of mint-laced jasmine, he pulled her even closer and whispered, "Stay."

Abruptly, the flood of emotion stopped, leaving behind it an oddly sterile emptiness. But she was real, her skin cool and soft beneath his hands. She was more than the characters on a screen or voice in the darkness she had become during his mission. For the moment, that was enough.

.

.

Warm hands slid down her arms and reached back to cover both of hers, gently drawing them away from their places around his waist. Then Spock was maneuvering her so that she stood at his side. He entwined the fingers of his left hand with those of her right and led her over to the sofa.

He didn't let go, even after they were seated.

"It seems that I have inadvertently honored our tradition." His quiet voice held a hint of amusement as he pulled her to his side.

Sniffing, she forced her voice to remain steady. "Tradition?"

"Yes, Nyota ndogo." He brushed a lone tear from her cheek. "I have inadvertently made you cry, and now must provide comfort."

A few more tears escaped her eyes as she choked back a sob and stifled a chuckle at the same time. "Don't call me that," she whispered. "I'm not a little girl anymore."

"Will you stop crying if I tell you the story of how two Starfleet lieutenants made emergency repairs to their ship using techniques developed, in part, with the aid of a Starfleet cadet who expanded the ideas of a Vulcan secondary-school student?"

Scrubbing the back of her hand across her eyes, Nyota lifted her head to smile a little.

"Will you tell me in Vulcan?" she asked.

Something like an answering smile curved his beautiful lips.

"I will," he promised.

.

.

Spock sat beside her, taking in the long sweep of hair tucked behind rounded ears to fall down her back. He preferred the braids or loose curls she had customarily worn throughout her childhood, but that did not prevent him from recognizing the benefits of the other changes time had wrought on his friend.

Resuming his previously platonic friendship with Nyota, he realized, would be impossible.

His grandfather's advice weighed heavily, but he could not ignore its logic; wooing her, it seemed, might be his only option.

"How did you know I had been released from the Medical Center?"

"I have a source. Why didn't you come to see me right away?"

"The terms of my discharge from Medical did not include free movement around campus."

She stiffed and turned to stare at him. Anger was clearly etched into the shape of her narrowed eyes and thinned lips.

"Those bastards _questioned_ you? After you and Diego saved the whole damned ship?"

"It is only standard procedure," he reminded her.

"It's standard procedure to question you for _five days_?"

"I was released after seventy-eight hours. Only fifty-three of those were spent attending various debriefings."

Her face lost all expression for a moment and he knew she was turning hours into days. He knew the instant her calculations were complete.

"Where have you been the last five days, Spock?" she growled.

"I had… other business to attend to."

"This other business was more important than me?"

"No," he answered honestly. "However, initially I thought it prudent to address certain issues prior to contacting you. I became aware of my error in judgment only last night."

"But waited 'til this morning to contact me."

"Yes."

"What 'other business'?" She placed a hand on his chest as he opened his mouth to respond. "Just the stuff you're able to talk about."

He gave her a short nod and summarized the first part of his discussion with Captain Pike.

"I believe you will be in my Interspecies Ethics class next term."

She didn't respond to that.

"I have also been assigned to teach a unit of Advanced Phonology," he tried. "I will need an assistant."

"Is that supposed to be a peace offering?"

"Only if you accept."

"I _should_ wait to hear your next offer, but I need another assistantship before graduation," she said as she slid closer again, laid her head on his shoulder and draped an arm around his waist. "I accept."

Spock wrapped his own arm around her shoulders, keeping her in place. Neither spoke for the next five minutes and twenty-four seconds. They were content to sit together, holding each other.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," Nyota murmured, sleepily breaking the silence.

"Yes."

"I won't be back until the beginning of term."

"I will be here when you return."

"I'm still really angry with you, Spock."

In spite of her declaration, she did not lift her head from his shoulder, so instead of answering, he continued to hold her close and stroke her hair.

* * *

Nyota at age three had been a somewhat trying, though certainly intriguing, addition to his ordered life. At nine she had proven herself to be an unexpected ally whose choices nonetheless baffled him at times. Nyota at seventeen was a problem that threatened to upset the balance of his entire world.

In spite of his earlier decision to follow his grandfather's advice and the promises he'd made to Captain Pike, the two months Nyota spent on Ardana dulled the urgency of his mission.

Then he became privy to what so many of his colleagues had been saying about her for more than a year.

Starfleet Command took almost the entire length of Nyota's internship to decide that without the combined actions of Lieutenants Suarez and Spock, the Marja Sklodowska would not have been able to flee the energy expulsion. Without the benefit of the of the new communications system the two had developed with the (minimal) assistance of a second-year cadet, they would not have been able to contact Starfleet to request further assistance once they'd broken free of the danger zone.

Diego Suarez and Spock were formally promoted two grades to the rank of commander in a small ceremony at the beginning of the new term. Nyota Uhura received another commendation in recognition of her own small role.

During the large reception following the ceremony, Spock gained first-hand knowledge of just _how_ others admired the woman he intended to make his own.

For a great deal of her Starfleet career, she had been called "an instructor's dream."

Not long after she returned to campus following the February/March break towards the end of her first year, many of those for whom she had previously been nothing more than the "epitome of everything a cadet should be" noticed a change in the young woman and began to alter the metaphor.

Descriptions of Nyota Uhura were changed dramatically with the injection of the deceptively simple adjective "wet" into a previously innocuous phrase.

Spock watched males and females of various species reach out to touch _his Nyota_ and—

And he reminded himself that he had not yet begun his courtship. He would correct the oversight. Soon.

She moved through the crowded hall, offering an engaging smile for the many people — officers and cadets, alike — who interrupted her forward progression along the way. But she never stopped moving towards her goal.

"Congratulations, _Commander_ Spock," she said, beaming as she finally reached him.

"Thank you, Cadet," he responded in a tone far more formal than hers had been.

Her smile didn't falter, and the discreet brush of her fingers against his wrist was evidence that she had not taken offense by his less than relaxed manner.

"I'll see you later… Spocky," she whispered. And she spun around and walked away.

Several sets of eyes tracked Nyota's departure until her lithe form disappeared back into the teeming mass of cadets and officers.

Before the night was over, he had convinced himself that it was only logical — now that he and Nyota were residing not only on the same planet, but on the same continent, city and campus — to expand the role of protector that he had adopted when she had started her "adventures." He need not wait until a more formal attachment had been formed.

That his own opinion of her physical appeal was not notably different than that of those from whom he intended to protect her was something he chose to ignore.

.

.

Wooing Nyota — an activity he began to pursue with all of the diligence and precision with which he performed his other duties — was made easier by virtue of the amount of time they were required to spend together in an official capacity. It became a simple enough thing to extend that time to include pursuits that had little if anything to do with Academy business.

Over the months of the first and second terms of her third year, grading papers in his office culminated in dinners shared either at one of the numerous restaurants near campus or in his faculty apartment. Heated class discussions were settled on "field trips" to events held by various embassies; the son of an ambassador and the daughter a highly-respected former member of the Diplomatic Corps made their way to the middle ranks of several invitation lists.

The only area where Spock might have considered his courtship to be lacking was in telling Nyota she was being wooed.

But as regular moments of offhand intimacy — she quickly adopted a habit of standing next to his office chair, a hand on his shoulder, while they reviewed lesson plans, and often stood behind him, her arms around his waist while he prepared their meals, always preceded by the warning "I'm about to hug you, Commander" — convinced him that withholding his ultimate goal in no way hampered his efforts, he never considered the matter urgent enough to merit immediate action.

Spock made a concerted effort to maintain a close watch on Cadet Uhura's other social activities while remaining unobtrusive. If anyone else noticed that the Vulcan officer was seen out and about more often than had been his wont before his assignment to the Marja Sklodowska, a great deal of time had passed before anyone mentioned it to him.

Nyota never appeared the least bit surprised to find him sitting with Diego Suarez or Christopher Pike in whatever bar or restaurant she happened to frequent of an evening. She didn't seem to mind that he was "babysitting" and their friendship did not suffer.

* * *

Nyota stood, hands on hips, in the center of her uncle's apartment. It wasn't the first time she had spent the four-week winter break there, but it was the first time she'd spent it with anyone who wasn't Uncle Tabansi.

"Come with us. I won't have any fun if you're not there," she insisted.

"I have no wish to impose upon your friends' celebration." Spock didn't move from his place near the sofa.

"You're my friend, too. This isn't just about term break; this is also my birthday party!"

"I have already promised to join you and your parents in celebrating tomorrow — on your true birth date," he reminded her. "There is no need for my presence tonight. And I doubt your friends wish to engage in recreational activities with an instructor who is considerably older than they are."

"You're twenty-six, not sixty. Besides, Axin will be there and he's even older than you are," she pointed out. "And, it's _break_, Spock. You stopped being 'an instructor' around 1900 last night. It's not like you haven't been showing up wherever I am all year. No one's going to care if you're actually _with_ us this time."

"That is even more reason for me to remain here."

Nyota huffed out a breath of frustration. "Damn it, Spock! I misspoke, okay? _I'll_ care is you don't come."

She stared him with wide, pleading eyes until she sensed he was about to give in.

"Very well," he said.

Breaking into a wide grin, she threw her arms around him and squeezed hard.

"Great!" She drew back to examine him, still smiling. "Wear the dark blue shirt and the grey trousers. You look utterly irresistible in those."

.

.

"I see a great deal has changed between you and your Vulcan." Axin Loures's voice filled Nyota's mind, cutting through the pulsating beat of the music as easily as her own thoughts.

Though deliberate telepathic speech was normally beyond the ability of her gift, the affinity she'd developed with her former tutor made answering aloud unnecessary. "Of course! I'm not a five-year-old with a raging case of hero-worship." She laughed at the skeptical glance the Betazoid gave her.

"He isn't happy to see you with me, Nyota ndogo. If I haven't missed my guess, jealousy won't let him tear his eyes away from you… and what you're doing."

"Don't be silly, Axin," she replied, turning her back to him and sidling close enough to feel the heat of his skin. "He's probably just making sure you don't have your wicked way with another one of his 'baby sisters.' The whole family still wants to know what happened between you and Upenda."

Deftly leaning back in the same instant she did, Axin said, "The whole family should either mind their own business, or worry more about what's going on between you and your jealous Vulcan."

.

.

Hungrily, he followed her body's movements. Angrily, he watched while her partner formed a counterpoint to her every action. The two dipped and swayed, never touching, but coming close enough to heat Spock's blood.

Undoubtedly, she would describe it as "only dancing"; to his eyes, it appeared to be the first elements of a public mating ritual.

Finally, the music ended and before he could stop himself, Spock was between Nyota and her Betazoid dancing partner, bending close to her ear. He knew his control had slipped below anything he had maintained since childhood, but as disappointing as the knowledge was, the thought of his woman in another man's arms was worse.

"This is not behavior becoming of my future mate, Ensign," he said, forcing a neutrality he was far from feeling into his voice.

Smiling, she accepted his words as the jest he had hoped she would perceive.

"Forgive me, sa-kugalsu," she teased, laughing lightly, "I was not aware you would disapprove."

His stomach clenched at the title, even though he was aware she did not use it seriously. He forced the sensation away and inclined his head, displaying a feigned nonchalance he was certain would have failed to fool her had she not consumed so many alcoholic beverages.

"No Vulcan with such an appealing ko-kugalsu would approve."

Her smile faltered, and he realized she suspected his words were not entirely teasing. She opened her mouth to respond, but closed it again when he touched her elbow.

"It is late and you have consumed your legal limit of alcohol units," he said quickly. "You require rest if you are to complete the repairs to Lieutenant Commander Wakufunzi's environmental controls before your parents arrive."

"It's only 0130," she pointed out, but in such a subdued tone, he knew she was not truly protesting, "and besides, my limit went up at midnight. I'm eighteen now. There's no nee—"

He knew from her expression that his displeasure shone in his human eyes. Without success, he tried to suppress it. Her eyes darted to the Betazoid standing at her side. Spock could not be certain, but he suspected the man had just communicated with her telepathically.

"It's just _Axin_, Spock," she whispered. "He has no interest in any woman who isn't my sister."

He looked at the still-smiling Axin Loures, forcing himself to quell the desire to strike in Nyota's former tutor in his black eyes. The Betazoid _knew_, Spock realized. And he had likely already told Nyota.

"Upenda Uhura is like a sister to me," he told the man, his voice Vulcan-flat. He hoped Loures would take it as a threat.

"And no doubt you hope she will one day be more than _like_ a sister," quipped the Betazoid.

He stared at Loures, unable to deny the truth. Turning to Nyota, Spock repeated, "It is late. I will escort you to your uncle's home."

With a last glance at her former mentor — and apparently Upenda's _current_ lover, in spite of what family gossip had to say — she nodded her acquiescence. "Okay. Let's go."

When her fingers brushed against his, he took her hand, doubting any of the drunken crowd would notice in the darkness. She did not say anything more as he led her towards the door.

.

.

The doors to Uncle Tabansi's apartment slid open and Nyota crossed the sitting room to connect her communicator to the main comm unit. She turned to find Spock watching her, his face devoid of all expression.

.

"Go to bed, Nyota." He watched the hopeful smile twist into an irritated frown as she stalked back over to him.

"The big brother routine is getting old," she told him, her low voice a warning. "I don't need you watching over my shoulder all the time! If you're not ready to treat me like an adult, maybe we need to stop spending so much time together."

Spock said nothing because he didn't know what to say. Her growing anger was visible in the set of her jaw and the stiffening of her shoulders. Her pain was written in dark eyes that implored him to give her something he didn't understand. He tilted his head; his eyes scanned her face and posture, searching for a clue to tell him what she needed.

Her shoulders sagged and she shook her head. Anger and frustration drained away and she gave him a rueful smile. Guarded relief instantly flooded his senses.

"I know it's just one of the ways you show you care," she whispered, stepping closer. "But I'm all grown up now."

Involuntarily, his eyes flickered over her. She was unmistakably 'all grown up.'

"I am aware of that." His voice sounded ragged to his own ears.

"Are you?" She moved closer still. Her breath, still sweet in spite of the alcohol units she had consumed, brushed over his face.

"If you do not go to bed, Nyota," he murmured as she halted, her lips six millimeters from his, "if you continue to provoke me, unlike others, _I_ may bite back."

.

.

_Spock swallowed a roar as her cool, smooth body pressed more firmly into his. As he breathed in, the scent of peppermint, spearmint blended with jasmine and the natural fragrance of her skin taunted his already tormented senses. Her erect nipples brushed against the hair on his chest and she cried out, rubbing her cheek along his neck. Her teeth scraped his exposed clavicle and the nascent longing bloomed into a conflagration of burning desire._

"Nyota_," he bit out, the name at once an admonition and a plea. It was wrong to allow her these liberties; it seemed denying her would be a far more egregious crime. _

_But she didn't hear the warning in his voice — or if she did, she did not care to heed it. The abrasion of her coarse pubic hair against his engorged lok stoked the fires of his arousal, threatening to break his control._

_She pressed her lips to his throat, kissing and nipping, then…her tongue, hotter even than his fevered skin, laved the spot she had so recently bitten. _

"_Grmph!" he growled, unable to hold back this time. His hands, of their own volition, found her naked hips and dragged her closer. Flesh burned against flesh and still, it wasn't enough. He flipped them over, covering her body with his own, and buried his face in her hair. Her enticing aroma filled his nose. "Nyota," he said again, softer this time — begging; there was no space in his mind for caution._

_She lifted her slender arms and threaded delicately-formed, cold fingers through his hair_ and Spock stiffened. His hands tightened around her cotton-covered hips. He heard her camisole rasping against his long-sleeved t-shirt as they breathed in unison. The mingled scents of jasmine, spearmint and Nyota still teased his olfactory organ.

Horrified at what he had been dreaming, he opened his eyes and reality reasserted itself.

Nyota. In bed with him. In his _arms_. Fully clothed, but still pressed beneath him nearly as intimately as he had imagined.

"Nyota," he said a third time, certain that the name had finally been spoken aloud.

She opened her eyes, blinking several times before settling on a half-lidded gaze that looked far too much like the after-effects of satiated desire.

"Spock," she murmured. His eyes fell to her mouth. Her full lips curved up and, in the process, proved to him that she was capable of tempting him beyond measure even while they were both fully awake.

He found himself licking his own lips and expending a great deal of mental energy attempting to suppress his continued reaction to her proximity. She shifted beneath him, and he regained another measure of brain function. His denser body was capable of crushing hers. Glancing up to meet her eyes again, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him.

"Forgive me," he whispered.

Her expression changed — eyes widening, lips no longer forming an inverted arch. She didn't release her grip on his hair.

"Why?" she asked.

.

.

Spock's hands left her hips and gently disentangled her fingers from his hair. He lowered her hands to his shoulders, but did not release them. His dark gaze did not release hers.

"Why?" she repeated. "What have you done wrong?"

He didn't answer for a long time. His warm hands still cover hers, his thumbs tracing lazy circles over the fleshy parts of her palms. She wondered if he realized what he was doing.

"I am considerably heavier than you," he eventually whispered. "You could have been injured."

Not at all fooled by his excuse, but not wishing to argue, Nyota decided to humor him.

"But I was not," she pointed out. "Besides, I _liked_ feeling you on top of me. It felt _wonderful_. You liked it, too. You like having me on top of you nearly as much."

He didn't stop her from freeing her hands and dragging them down to the hem of his black shirt. He didn't interfere as she pushed it up his muscled torso, and even helpfully lifted himself so that she could peel the whole thing off.

Nyota lost the garment somewhere in the bedclothes and, reaching for his hands, lay on his chest again. Smiling, she pressed herself more firmly against the evidence of his pleasure.

She wasn't prepared when he growled again and flipped her over, pinning her hands above her head.

He stared down at her with such dark intensity, such longing, she wanted to growl herself.

"See?" she murmured instead. "This feels good. This _is_ good."

"It is too soon," he through clenched teeth. "I was not... this is not the time, Nyota."

"Too soon for what?" she asked, utterly confused. "Tell me what you're talking about."

A high-pitched _Beep!_, quickly followed by a startled "Oh!" saved Spock from answering.

.

.

Amanda watched slender brown arms snake around her son's naked back, and was already reaching for the disconnect button when a beaming face peeked over his shoulder.

"_Lady Amanda_!" Nyota squealed, delight lighting her voice and smile. "I'm so happy to see you!"

Spock partially disentangled himself from the girl and rummaged under the heavy blankets with one hand. He produced a bunched up piece of black fabric, telling Nyota to "Put this on" before turning over to face his mother, simultaneously blocking her view of his companion.

"Mother," he said. "I was not expecting to hear from you today."

"That's because I called to speak with the _birthday girl_," Amanda pointed out, her eyes instinctively glancing over his shoulder although Spock had positioned himself carefully enough to keep Nyota out of sight of the comm screen.

"She is more appropriately deemed the 'birthday _woman_,'" he corrected, lifting an eyebrow.

Amanda knew better than to upset a Vulcan's sense of propriety, but she couldn't help herself. She laughed. Hard. In the background, she could hear Nyota laughing with her.

"Well, I should hope so," Amanda said once she caught her breath.

The young woman, now wearing a too-big black shirt, slipped her arms around Spock waist and propped her head on his shoulder again.

Amanda winked at Nyota, whose brown cheeks took on a deep flush. Spock rolled his eyes, rolled over Nyota and out of her now-black-clad arms, then rolled out of the bed.

.

.

"My son doesn't usually embarrass easily," Amanda remarked with a teasing grin once he'd left the room, saying something about making repairs to the environmental control unit.

She'd been pleased to note he was wearing sleep pants and socks as he left the room. There were some things a mother just didn't need to see.

Nyota grinned back at her.

"It was cold," she explained. "I, um, forgot to fix Uncle Tabansi's EC yesterday."

"Who needs a heater when you've got a Vulcan handy?" Amanda quipped, and Nyota flushed anew. Chuckling softly at the blush, Amanda went on. "I'm really sorry to have called so early, ko-fu. I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday and tell you how proud I am of you."

"Thank you... Ko-mekh," Nyota whispered, her voice full of emotion.

But Amanda couldn't resist getting in another dig. "Just look at you, Ennie — you're a woman now and so beautiful!"

First, Nyota blanched, then the blush returned full-force. Then she sputtered for several moments before finally getting out, "W-well, uh, not ye—"

"I meant," Amanda interrupted (there are some things a mother just didn't need to _know_) "that you've passed the final hurdle of the Federation's Byzantine laws regarding legal majority for humans."

"Oh! Oh, well, yes. I have. For those of us lucky enough to be in Starfl—"

"I _know_, ko-fu," Amanda interrupted again with another chuckle. "And I hope you're enjoying your birthday, so far."

A slow smile crept over Nyota's lovely face.

"This has been the best one ever, Ko-mekh," she whispered dreamily.

"I'll just bet it _has_!"

At the younger woman's third searing blush, Amanda decided to relent, and then the two women talked about family and Nyota's plans for the break and birthday-presents-to-come (Spock had all of the Grayson and S'chn T'gai gifts squirreled away somewhere) and about inconsequential things until the embarrassment of the morning faded, leaving only the warmth of familial affection.

.

.

Nyota was feeling excited and happy by the time she closed the connection with Lady Amanda — _Ko-mekh_ — and noticed that Spock had been gone for quite some time. Excited, happy and… restless.

Anticipatory.

This truly _was_ turning out to be the best birthday ever and she could barely wait to see what came next.

.

.

M'Umbha Uhura quietly stepped into the sitting room of her younger brother's San Francisco apartment three hours before her scheduled arrival. Nyota had probably spent the night dancing and was most likely still sleeping, she and her husband had agreed. But Spock was sure to be awake to greet them. Still, they didn't want to disturb—

"I'm _freezing_!" she heard her daughter call out, "Either come back to bed and warm me up, or bring me some clothes so I can help you!"

A glance at her husband told her Benjamin had heard, as well.

"Your uncle left rather detailed notes," Spock called back from the opposite end of the apartment. "I am perfectly capable of following them and completing, without assistance, the repairs you promised. You may continue to indulge in indolence in honor of your birthday."

"That's not fair!" came Nyota's voice. "I was going to get to them. I just— got diverted."

"Fortunately for both of us, my attention is not so easily broken. I am nearly finished."

"You know what? You'd better come back to bed anyway, Buster! We still need to talk about last night."

"No. We do not have time to continue our… discussion this morning."

Spock's refusal was firm, and apparently Nyota thought it was finite, because just then, three things happened in rapid succession:

Nyota bolted out of Spock's bedroom, dressed in a black long-sleeved t-shirt that fell to her knees, yelling, "We'd have plenty of time if your concentration were _really_ so impervious to distraction."

Warmth began slicing through the icy air hanging about the apartment.

Spock emerged from the utility room, wearing only black sleep pants and thick grey socks and retorting, "_I_ was not the one who could not remain her own bed."

.

.

The two young people noticed the new arrivals around the same time.

Benjamin glanced from Nyota's wide eyes and open mouth to Spock's carefully composed countenance, restraining his own features so as not to further embarrass the couple.

M'Umbha, shoulders shaking, leaned down to smother her laughter against his shoulder.

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own any Star Trek characters or concepts, and I'm _still_ not profiting from writing about them.


	10. Prv30:18—19

It was the work of seconds for Benjamin to employ a series of raised eyebrows and other facial contortions to silently (and vainly) urge the children to take themselves elsewhere while M'Umbha regained a measure of control. Still, several minutes passed before her quiet chuckles had abated to a point where only the occasional full-body tremor gave away the height of her mirth.

_Earliness_, he reflected as he led her over to the small oatmeal-colored sofa that sat in the center of his brother-in-law's decidedly beige living room,_ is more accurately synonymous with prematurity than with punctuality_.

He made a note to bring up the point when his linguist wife had recovered from taking in the sight of the hapless half-clad couple's shocked faces. (Both he and M'Umbha had known the boy for far too long to have been taken in by his display of Vulcan tranquility.)

Glancing across the room to where they now stood, side by side, Nyota nervously clutching Spock's hand, Benjamin glared and waved them towards the bedrooms while easing his wife his wife onto the sofa.

Under his watchful gaze, but only after a mouthed "later," the young people started to move away, each turning in a different direction, until Nyota yanked Spock after her.

With effort, Benjamin was able to stifle his own burble of laughter. "The poor boy has much to learn," he told his wife.

.

.

Nyota marched into her bedroom, dragging her partner in crime behind her. "Shit!" she snapped, dropping his hand as soon as the door closed behind them. "_Twice_? In one morning?"

Swinging around to face Spock, she was annoyed, but not surprised, to note that even with dust clinging to the mussed hair on his chest and head, he seemed far more composed than she suspected _she_ appeared. Curse his Vulcan control, but he managed to look as unperturbed as usual.

"I think you will find that our respective parents are not as concerned with our behavior as you appear to be," he placidly pointed out.

Embarrassment heaped on frustration pushed annoyance towards rage. _Why the hell was he always damned calm?_ "None of this would have happened if you hadn't stayed here last night!"

"Nyota, _you_ invited me to share Lieutenant Commander Wakufunzi's apartment during the break," he reminded her. "Captain Pike offered to let me stay with him while the repairs to my quarters were completed."

"Then why didn't you?" she retorted. "In fact, every time I've turned around this year, you've been there. Why is _that_?"

Finally, his face changed. Most people wouldn't have noticed the minute narrowing of his eyes or the faint tightening of his lips. Nyota wasn't most people. She known him for most her life, and practically had an advanced degree in his facial expressions.

"_You_ came to _my_ bed, Nyota," he said, and she heard the censure that another might have missed.

Nowhere near ready to back down, she countered, "You wanted me there."

His eyes held hers for an endless moment, then, abruptly, he turned away. Immediately, something like regret knotted in her stomach.

"We will speak of this later," he said as he walked toward the door.

Her shoulders sagged as the bulk of her defiance seeped away. "Promise?" she whispered.

"I promise," he said, his tone much softer than before.

And then he was gone.

.

Spock didn't look towards the sitting room as he made his way to Tabansi Wakufunzi's sleeping chamber. Towards the bed where, less than two hours before, he had come so close to taking what he wanted. His mind was too full of the accusation she had hurled at him, and of the naked plea so readily apparent in her parting question, for him to risk facing two more humans who could read him as well as his Nyota could.

Except… except perhaps it was time to be wholly honest in this part of his life, he thought as he stepped into the room. As soon as the idea crossed his mind, the decision was made.

He felt the tension ease from his body as he stripped off his socks and sleep pants, then padded over to the shower cubicle. He selected the sonic cleanser over water — it would take less time — and began planning his new approach.

.

Long before Nyota emerged from her own shower, Spock found Dr. Uhura waiting alone in the sitting room.

"M'Umbha went to hurry along our Little Star," the doctor said. He indicated the armchair adjacent to his own. "You can be certain it will now take Nyota twice as long to choose clothing that is appropriate for the weather."

Spock felt the human watching him as he lowered himself into the chair, but knew from long experience that the man would not speak of what he had seen earlier unless he had something valuable to impart. Spock doubted that he would need to explain himself; Benjamin Uhura tended not to jump to conclusions.

"If I surmise correctly, mwana," said Dr. Uhura, jumping to the most obvious conclusion, "you have decided on a path that some might say is fraught with danger."

Turning his head so that he could view Nyota's father out of the corner of his eye, Spock raised a single questioning brow.

Benjamin smiled and waved a dismissive hand.

"You've been choosing the difficult paths almost since you were an infant. Why should _this_ time be any different?"

Now, truly confused but also genuinely curious, Spock faced the man fully. "I am afraid I do not understand."

Dr. Uhura's smile stretched wider and, for a moment, he resembled his daughter.

"Oh, as a boy you were always getting into one scrape after another. It drove your father as close to crazy as a logical Vulcan may come," the African man explained. "Why, when you were six years old, just before M'Umbha and I decided to leave—"

"Forgive me, sir," the half-human interrupted, "but I was referring to your implication that I am presently making a mistake."

Brows furrowed, Dr. Uhura looked at him askance. "Mistake?" he repeated. "Who said anything about a mistake? Loving a daughter of Wakufunzi can be _difficult_, yes, but its rewards far outweigh its dangers."

Spock didn't bother trying to deny the man's assumption. Benjamin Uhura most likely knew he was more often correct than not. And though he was rarely loquacious, when he chose to speak at length, Spock had found, what he had to say was almost always beneficial.

"The trick — that is, the only _real hurdle_ —" Dr. Uhura continued, "is in knowing how to live in _harmony_ with a Wakufunzi woman."

Leaning closer, Spock took careful note of all offered advice.

"The first thing you need to learn is how to say 'Yes, dear' and mean it…"

.

.

Going out for breakfast rather than the planned lunch wasn't a hard choice. In spite of Spock's most valiant efforts, the apartment was still colder than the Andorian Embassy's subterranean garden. Reassurances that it would warm within the hour held little comfort for four beings accustomed to warmer climes.

M'Umbha won the minor dispute over where they should eat when she pointed out that Sookie's Veg With An Edge was only three doors down from Peet's Coffee and Tea.

"I've been craving a cup of Major Dickason's Blend," she explained, and Benjamin, after directing a meaningful look at Spock, immediately backed up his wife's choice.

.

.

"I'm pretty sure my birthday wish will come true," Nyota teased her family as they walked back to the apartment carrying the hot beverages of their choice. She winked at her parents, then looked pointedly at Spock. The woolly hat that covered the tips of his ears and his upswept brows didn't do much to hide his greened cheeks. "But, I want to open the rest of my presents as soon as we get back to Uncle Tabansi's. Just to make sure."

"Yes, of course, Nyota," Spock was quick to say. His breath came out in puffs of steam that immediately dissipated in the damp, chilly air. "You have a busy schedule this break; we cannot afford to waste time."

Amused, she turned accusing eyes on her father. "What did you do to him, Baba?"

Benjamin's eyes widened in feigned innocence, but he declined to answer his youngest child's question.

.

.

Spock entered the sitting room carrying a collection of variously-sized and colorfully wrapped packages. Nyota stared up at him from the small sofa — a loveseat, some called it — her bright eyes full of excitement and curiosity. The was no sign of recrimination over his behavior from the night before. Or of any discomfort from the events of the morning.

"My relatives sent most of your gifts here," he explained. "They did not wish for you to receive them either late or early this year."

He glanced around the room to see that Dr. M'Umbha and her husband had taken the large armchairs facing either end of the sofa. A small wheeled chair sat near Tabansi's desk. Even as Spock's eyes drifted towards it, Nyota offered an alternative solution.

Tossing a pair of caramel-colored throw pillows on the floor to make room, she patted the space next to her. "Sit here," she ordered. "I need to keep you close so you can hand me my presents."

After two seconds devoted to considering her words, he nodded and stepped forward again. "Your logic is unsound, but I will comply anyway, as the invitation is appealing." The corners of his lips tipped up as he caught Benjamin's approving nod. "Arguing further would be a waste of energy. Especially as I am unlikely to win."

Carefully cradling the packages, he angled himself towards her and sat down. Once the boxes were comfortably settled on his lap, she pulled her feet up under herself and moved closer to him.

"Now, which one shall I open first?" She grinned happily as her gaze went back to the colorfully-wrapped presents. "Who sent what?"

He leaned back against soft cushions, smiling faintly at her joyful anticipation and at the familiarity of sitting next to her with her parents looking on.

"I cannot answer your first question; the decision must be yours," he stated, "however, if you would like me to read the label on each gift, I shall do so."

His teasing earned him a light punch on the shoulder and another glimpse of her gleaming smile. She snatched a flat orange box tied with a brown ribbon from the top of the pile.

"This one is from Ko-mekh," she decided.

"Your powers of deduction are admirable," he agreed, earning a mock glare as she carefully untied the bow and removed the wrapping. Her delighted sigh as she pulled out a broad gossamer scarf in shades of red, orange and brown from the box was strangely pleasing.

He watched her open gift after gift, listened to her exclaim happily at the thought and care that must have gone into choosing each one.

She paused to gaze at him before opening the final gift. "Your family knows me so well," she said, her voice low and full of an emotion he suspected was wonder mixed with love. After reading the label on the final package, she turned to back him with a smile full of knowledge. "Grandpa Grayson. Hmm. Wonder what this could be?"

His groin tightened as she opened bottles of the peppermint and spearmint oils she combined with jasmine essence to create the scent she favored. He suppressed the automatic response before she looked his way again. Still, the memory of how the blended oils smelled against her skin was… distracting. Briefly, he closed his eyes to facilitate maintaining better control of his body.

.

.

Dr. Uhura's advice still foremost in his mind, Spock did not hesitate to comply when Nyota announced she was going to take a nap and ordered him to carry her gifts to her room.

While he sat on the far side of the bed, arranging opened packages on her night table and on the floor, she lay back against the headrest, watching him.

He ignored the scent of jasmine mingled with mint and paid no attention the periodic movement of the mattress until he had stacked the last gift neatly against the wall. Once he was certain everything was safely out of the way of a certain formerly-clumsy human woman, he glanced over his shoulder for her approval.

She was staring at him, expectation clear in her lovely eyes when he opened his own. She was also sitting much closer to him than she had been several seconds earlier.

"Yes, Nyota?" He strove to remain aloof, knowing his efforts were fruitless.

"I don't remember seeing _your_ gift." A grin tugged at her mouth and her eyes twinkled. Spock wondered if she knew how her teasing affected him.

"Today is not the anniversary of _my_ birth," he reminded her, swinging his legs up onto the bed.

"Watch it, buster! You're still on notice." Her smile, at once mischievous and challenging, underscored the warning. "Don't think I've forgotten the way you dragged me away from my own party last night."

.

In truth, Nyota was elated; if Spock was up to teasing her, then she could probably stop worrying that he was still brooding over what had happened in his borrowed bed, or what she had said before breakfast — not that she was going to let him get away with his caveman tactics of the night before. Still, his small joke was strong evidence — even stronger than his current location — that if they weren't exactly okay at the moment, they eventually would be.

She scooted closer again and lay her head on his shoulder. Ignoring his sharp inhalation, she curved her body into his and slung her far arm around the front of his waist.

"I'm sorry about this morning," she murmured. "Not about— not about waking you up. But I'm sorry I yelled at you. I've just been a little on edge, I guess."

"My gift consisted of the white and gold pairs of earrings you believed to be a matched set along with Noah's necklace of 'harvest-colored stones'," he went on as if she hadn't long ago changed the subject. "That is understandable, as he designed it, per my request, to complement the red earrings you are so fond of wearing. The new earrings should also match the necklace. Further, as the packaging was unlabeled and covered in a wrapper that was complement—"

Brushing her lips over the spot just below his ear brought his explanation to an early end. She smiled at the shudder he didn't quite suppress.

"They're beautiful," she assured him, "but I need to know if you can accept my apology."

"Your apology is unnecessary," he told her. "Under the circumstances, your frustration is understandable. You have undoubtedly found my actions to be somewhat confusing of late.

"I am attempting to explain myself, Nyota. And your birthday gifts are part of that explanation."

Sitting there next to him, his heat seeping into her, made her happier than all of the lovely and thoughtful things now piled on her nightstand and on the floor beside the bed. But she didn't have a clue where he was going with this "explanation."

For a moment, Axin's theory tried to tickle her hopes, but she squashed the idea before it could coalesce into anything solid. When Spock shifted the shoulder she was leaning on, snaked an arm around her waist and dragged her even closer, most coherent thought flew away, anyway. Nyota snatched a shaky breath, of her own.

"You've been following me around to check out my earring?" she asked, just to have something to focus on other than the feel of his heart beating against her side.

"Do you think the earrings were the only gifts I have procured you?" He slid a finger under her chin, tipping it up. "Are you certain I am not simply waiting for the right moment to give you something you will find more pleasing?"

It took a moment for her to find the breath to answer him. The way his eyes bore into hers, his lips so close… "Spock, I was just teasing you." Her voice was barely more than a squeak. "I didn't really expect anything from you, but I _love_ the earrings. I don't need anything more than you… I mean, you sitting here next to me.. I mean… being my friend."

"As it happens, I do have another gift for you."

"It's not more ballet lessons, it?" she teased, having regained some of her composure. "I think I've gotten dancing pretty much ingrained by now."

.

Her words summoned the unbidden image of her sinuous movements the night before. As they flashed through his head, he was forced to remind himself that she had been "only dancing."

"No."

"Is it that kiss you wouldn't let me give you last night?"

His arm tightened around her for the briefest moment before he said, "No, but it would please me if you were to oblige me with one after opening your gift." He reached into one of his trouser pockets and pulled out a slim black box. "It is traditional, I believe."

"Well, no. Not really," she laughed as she reached for the box. "But I'll kiss you anyway."

"It was my original intention to give you this once you graduated from the Academy— "

"You don't have to do that! I can wait—"

"—but, in light of the events of this morning, I decided that delay was no longer prudent."

.

Thoroughly confused, but still amused and more than a little intrigued, she flipped open the hinged lid and looked down at the contents.

"Oh!" Her gasp was quiet, but filled with every conflicting feeling that suddenly swamped her senses.

She ran a finger along four lines of Vulcan script that formed the platinum chains. The emerald-and-peridot clasp was fashioned into the shape of an irregular star, and the tiny green apple had been carved from vesuvianite. Minuscule leaves of jade sprouted from its top.

"Spock," she whispered, not looking up. Breathing was a challenge. Hoping was damned near impossible.

"Do you require assistance?" he asked. "It is designed to be worn on your ankle, rather than around your wrist, but if you desire, I will help you put it on. It would be… my pleasure, Nyota."

Then she did look at him.

"I am not a Grayson," she said in Vulcan.

"Not yet, no, " he conceded, "but after having considered the possibility for the past two years, six months and twenty-six days, I am now certain that my decision is not only wise, but desirable for both of us."

.

.

He'd assumed she would express nothing but pleasure at his decision. That, he realized, was the first of his new round of mistakes.

She launched herself off the bed and stumbled towards the door, but halted point two meters away from him.

"Nyota," he said, moving to stand behind her, "I do not understand how I have upset you. I assumed you would be pleased."

A loud sniff was her only response. When he placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her stiff body back against his chest, she did not flinch or attempt to pull away. But she did not relax into his embrace.

"Tell me." His voice was quietly insistent. He would beg if she needed him to do so. "Please."

"Why me?"

In the end, he settled on sharing half the truth. "You love me."

"You're practically family. Of course I love you. I've always loved you."

"Not in this manner. AS you pointed out last night, you are no longer a child. Now, you desire me as your mate."

Another mistake. She shrugged out of his arms, away from him.

"I don't know what you expected me to say." Her voice was soft, and he could tell she struggled to keep it steady.

"I expected you to say yes… eventually."

"'Eventually'? You were really going to wait another year before telling me?"

"I intended to use the time to increase the intensity of my courtship."

Her laughter held far more bitter humor than he believed his revelation warranted. "You've been _courting_ me? How? Since when?"

"You asked why I have been present 'every time you turned around.' That is why."

.

"_Really_?" She didn't even try to keep the incredulity out of her voice. "I thought we were just hanging out because we'd missed each other so much while you were deployed. And so that you could keep an eye on me."

"I 'missed' you a great deal during our separation," he told her, "and I did mean to watch over you once I returned, but my primary goal in seeking out opportunities to be in your company was to show you that I would be the most logical choice of mate for you."

"Logical?" Her stomach cramped as the single word shattered what little was left of the optimism she'd been nurturing ever since Axin had told her she had something to wish for.

His silence made her turn to study his resolutely flat expression. Usually, she could read him better than anyone else she knew; tonight he was a blank slate. "Is it logical to marry me because I love you?"

"Current Terran custom is overwhelmingly in favor of marrying for just that reason," he pointed out. Not even a flicker of emotion crossed his face. "There is also a ninety-three point seven percent likelihood that you will be assigned to the Enterprise upon grad—"

"Love is supposed to be mutual," she cut him off. "I don't want to marry you just because I'm in love with you and you happen to _desire_ me.

"I mean, I _will_, of course. I won't let you… I won't let you face your… Time alone. But, I—"

.

He drew her back into his arms, aware that he might be making a third mistake, but the need for contact trumped reason.

"Thank you, Nyota," he murmured into her hair. "I will do everything in my power to ensure that you do not regret that decision."

"Spock, you don't understand," she breathed, not caring that her words came out as a whimper. "I want you to love me the way I love you."

"I do not believe any Vulcan would be capable of loving your way, Nyota." He relaxed his hold around her waist when she did not attempt to move away from him again, but from the sudden increase of her weight against his chest, he knew her disappointment ran deep.

"You are my most…fitting choice of mate because of what you feel for me," he said again, pressing his forehead to hers. "And because of what I… feel for you. May I show you?"

After a brief hesitation, she lowered her shields. Her anger and her anguish, her confusion and her fear — but still… her _love_ — flowed through their tenuous link.

Opening himself to her, he let his affection — in all its permutations — flow into her. He allowed her to see how his grudging acceptance had turned into fondness to something the ancient Greeks called _philia_ to the _agápe_ he had begun to feel over the past twenty months. Finally, he shared the eros that had plagued him since his return to Earth.

The last two emotions were mixed with sense of unity, of essential truth and of possessiveness that defied human description.

"_That's_ how you love me?" Her awe-filled whisper eased much of the tension he'd been feeling since she'd jumped up from the bed.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"As I explained, until this morning, I intended to wait until your graduation before declaring myself," he reminded her. "And, I was cognizant of the possibility that you might find my feelings… overwhelming."

"Over_whelming_? Spock, I've loved you most of my life!"

"Not in the same way, ashayam," he murmured again, cupping the back of her head, tipping her face until they touched noses instead of foreheads. "And not in the Vulcan way."

"You know, k'diwa," she replied, a faint smile playing at her full lips, "for a supposed genius, you really are an idiot about some things."

Abruptly, the last wall between them fell away and he experienced the full force of her love and… passion. Had he been anything but what and who he was, the flood of feeling might have left him as shaken as he had feared she would be. AS it was, he suddenly found it hard to breathe.

"I see," was all he managed to get out before her lips captured his.

.

Kissing Spock was like falling into a warm pool.

Hesitantly, she brushed her mouth over his. In spite of everything he'd told and showed her, she was still not quite certain what his reaction would be. But the second his arms had tightened around her waist, clasping her closer to his muscled length, all fear evaporated.

Kissing Spock filled her, body and mind, with a sense of belonging and contentedness. She knew, the moment before she lost herself in the feel of his mouth on hers, that her three-year-old self had been far more intuitive than the subsequent years had suggested.

His heated lips coaxed hers to move in ways Jamie Namalenga had probably never dreamed of. Tiny sparks of electricity zipped through her entire body. Suddenly, the kiss wasn't enough. Her mouth fell open beneath his, and his tongue slipped in, teasing, stroking, stoking the fire his touch had ignited.

Of course she'd had other kisses over the past four and half years, but nothing that had prepared her for this. She clawed at his shoulders, trying — without quite understanding why — to move closer, to fill herself with more of him.

She wanted… she wasn't sure she knew what she wanted — no, _needed_ — from him. To climb inside him? To be overflowed with him? To melt into the swirling, colorful heat? Whatever it was, she had to have more.

Except, it seemed, she was going to have to wait.

Spock lifted his mouth, pressing his forehead into hers. "I will bite back, beloved," she thought she heard him whisper.

Her head was still spinning as he led her back to the bed. She let him ease her down onto the mattress, then draw his hands down her left leg. For one thrilling moment, she thought his actions were an extension of what they'd been doing in the center of the room.

Only when the warm metal wrapped her ankle and Spock's warmer fingers clasped it in place did she realize her error.

"Sleep, ko-kugalsu," he ordered.

She did.

* * *

Nearly a week later, she was a lot closer to figuring out exactly what she needed.

Then her unfortunate tendency to forget herself in the throes of excitement brought a swift drop to her learning curve.

.

"I'm so sorry!"

Nyota's stricken face peered at his. Tears brimmed in her dark eyes. Silently, through his intense pain, he watched her struggle to keep them from spilling over. It was a testament to his Vulcan upbringing that he had not shouted loud enough to wake, not only the Drs. Uhura down the hall, but also the residents of the neighboring apartments when her teeth had—

"Does it still hurt?" His hand shot out to stop her as she reached out to touch his injury. "Oh, k'diwa! I'm so sorry."

She collapsed in a heap on the bed and only Spock's quick reflexes kept her flailing arms from injuring him further. Gingerly, he tucked her next to him, pinning her arms at her sides.

"I will… recover," he was able to say at last, though he noted his voice was exactly a half octave higher than usual.

"I'm sorry," she murmured into his shoulder. "I've never done this before."

Spock brought up a hand to brush her hair behind her ear. "So I gathered," he said. His voice, at least, was back to normal.

.

They didn't talk about it. Nyota waved farewell to her parents at the shuttle station the next day and then immediately headed back to Uncle Tabansi's to continue preparing for the upcoming Stellar Cartography conference she'd promised to attend with Cadet Chekov. Neither of them would be presenting, of course, but as volunteers, they were expected to be knowledgeable about the subject.

Fortunately, Spock _was_ presenting — and helpfully left his notes behind whenever he was off visiting with Commander Suarez or Captain Pike.

When she wasn't studying, she had the pleasure of Jane Faransdóttir's company. After the conference, the two young women planned to meet up with Upenda in New York. Their week-long girl-time would be devoted to shopping, partying and introducing sixteen-year-old Sarah Grayson to the joys being what Nyota like to call "an adult, third-class."

.

She insisted he was doing it just to punish her. He was not, of course. Lounging without clothing on their bed whenever time permitted served the dual purpose of allowing her to grow more accustomed to seeing him in that state while giving him the opportunity to heal without his briefs or pants chafing against his wound.

"It wasn't _that_ bad!" she protested, rather more feebly, in Spock's opinion, than was her wont. She collapsed next to him, her naked skin brushing against his. "I can barely see the bruise anymore. If you'd used some of your Vulcan healing ability, you'd be perfectly fine by now."

With a habit borne of four days' practice, he pulled her hand away from his still-healing flesh without looking.

"Incurring further damage is not my only concern, beloved," he said patiently, deliberately refraining from pointing out that, as the injured party, he was a significantly better judge than she of just how bad it had been. "There are also several things you must know before you make a final decision."

"Spock, my decision is _already_ final," she insisted. "I know you wouldn't have given me the anklet if you hadn't already been certain I would agree. Where's this doubt coming from all of a sudden? You say it isn't about the bite, but… "

"Before my return to Earth, I took your acceptance for granted," he explained. "In my — misguided — attempts at courting you, I also failed to give you sufficient time to consider the possible impact a biological imperative, peculiar to Vulcan males, would have on you."

"I already know about—"

"You know that it exists, and that it could lead to my death, but you do not truly know what it entails."

"So, tell me."

"That would be… difficult."

"Spock, you can trust me enough to tell me anything."

"It is not a matter of trust, beloved." He softened his words with a kiss on her forehead. "We do not even speak of this among ourselves. If you were Vulcan, perhaps your mother, but most likely your clan's matriarch, would speak with you about what is to come _once_ during your adolescence. She would tell you only enough so that you would know what to expect and what you must do when you sensed my Time approaching. You would not talk about it again until you prepared a daughter of your own."

.

"But, since I'm not Vulcan, I don't have anyone to prepare me," she mused just before dread slammed into her chest. "Wait a minute! You don't expect me to speak with T'Pau—?"

"That will not be necessary, although she fulfilled that duty for my mother," he broke in. "No, I suspect you will be more comfortable speaking with someone you know well, and who is also a human."

Nyota felt her cheeks flush at the thought of having a brand new version of "the sex talk" with Amanda Grayson. Then she reminded herself that the situation could become life-or-death for Spock and managed to subdue her embarrassment. In any case, talking about it with Ko-mekh had to be a billion times better than hearing it from T'Pau.

"Okay," she said. "I'll contact her tomorrow."

.

.

The next morning, once her bag was packed and her PADD was loaded with all of the data she would need for the conference, she sat at Uncle Tabansi's desk to place the call to Vulcan. A quick calculation told her Amanda Grayson would have finished in her garden already, and would be ensconced in her study, waiting out the worst of the day's heat while working on her research.

"Ko-fu," Amanda exclaimed when she saw her caller. "It's so nice to hear from you again. And so soon!"

The woman's delighted grin almost erased the twinge of embarrassment Nyota felt at broaching a forbidden topic. Still, she felt herself flushing in anticipation even before she rushed through her explanation of what Spock wanted, having successfully recovered from accidentally, though fairly obliquely, referencing the display of awkwardness in intimacy which had precipitated his request.

And then she felt her stomach plummet as Amanda's smile gradually lost its intensity.

"Ko-mekh?" Nyota's voice was nearly a squeak. "Is everything okay?"

"Nyota," she said, her face suddenly, positively, grave, "I think you'd better come to Vulcan right away."

* * *

As was his custom, he was sitting at the table in his dining alcove, going over the newest lists of candidates Captain Pike had forwarded to his PADD. The weekly updates were tedious reading, and the captain was only too happy to hand the task of evaluating each potential crewmember over to his first officer-to-be. Spock was so engrossed in his work, he almost didn't hear the door slide open.

"We need to start having sex."

Nyota punctuated her announcement by dropping her bag near the door. She stalked thorough his newly refurbished sitting room to the dining alcove. Sinking into a chair across from him, she propped her elbows on the table and dropped her chin into her palms. "There's no way my first time is going to coincide with your first Time."

Spock gave her a bland look before returning his gaze to his breakfast plomeek. "I take it your visit with Mother was productive?"

She feigned a frown. "You bet your pointy ears it was! You've been holding out on me, Spocky."

He looked up again. Raised an inquiring brow.

"It's not the same for humans, k'diwa." She grinned at him. Then, when his left eyebrow remained somewhere in the vicinity of his bangs, she added, "You don't _really_ want me to go into detail, do you? I mean, I said 'humans,' but the only empirical data I have came from _one_ human in particular."

Comprehension, along with a churning in his abdomen, came in an instant. "Details are unnecessary."

Nyota's grin turned smug.

"Okay, no details." Her eyes lost focus and her lips stretched wider. "Let's just say, what a Vulcan male considers a humiliating display of emotionalism and loss of control can be an incredibly gratifying experience for a human female."

The implications of her revelations were immediately obvious. He put down his spoon and reached for one of her hands. Sitting back, she folded her arms across her chest, temporarily out of his reach.

"But, uh, it's also an extremely _exciting_ experience," she pointed out. "You know what can happen when I get excited, k'diwa."

Spock's injury was too recently healed not to be a clear deterrent to engaging in activities during which he was unclothed and which his ko-kugalsu was "extremely excited."

He was out of his seat with an armful of delectable human before the smug smile had time to fade.

"It would seem, beloved," he murmured against her lips, "that you are in need of practice before such a Time arises."

.

Too surprised to even gasp, Nyota stared up at Spock in silence. The look that returned hers nearly made her insides melt. On the trip back to Earth, she'd been a nervous wreck, dreading this conversation even more than she'd dreaded the meeting with Ko-mekh. (_That_ had turned out to be a relatively harmless, though more than occasionally embarrassing — she'd never be able to look at Sa-mekh with the same eyes again! — experience.) She'd decided to brazen through the conversation with Spock, demanding rather than pleading, ordering rather than suggesting.

She'd figured it would take a while to convince him. She hadn't expected to be carried off before she had really gotten started.

"Practice?" she parroted, eyes widening.

"Practice," he confirmed, shifting her so that his lips were mere millimeters from her mouth. "You need to learn better control over your…excitement."

Sliding a hand up his chest until it hooked around his shoulder, Nyota felt her smile growing again.

"Practice," she repeated.

"A great deal of it," he predicted.

"Like when you made me practice not falling on my face?"

Spock's eyes glittered down at her. One corner of his mouth lifted. "_Nothing_ like that, ashayam."

* * *

Even for a cadet as hard-working and ambitious as Nyota Uhura, the second trimester of her final year at the Academy should have been a relative cakewalk. Then again, not every cadet's ambitions were pointed at a posting on the Fleet's flagship. The ones who _really_ wanted Enterprise were every bit as dogged in their pursuits as she was. Competition was fierce. She couldn't afford to coast.

_But a break wouldn't be taken amiss_, she mused sleepily as let herself into her dorm room after an unexpected late-night shift monitoring the long-range sensor array. She agreed to fill in for a sick cadet on the premise that every little bit would help her chances. Now, though, thoughts of making herself stand out were pushed aside by thoughts of her bed.

Thankfully, the room was empty. Apparently, Gaila had decided to take her Friday night activities elsewhere. And even her Orion friend would draw the line at sneaking a guy into her bed while her roommate slept less than five feet away.

Nyota had just plopped down on her bed and was bending over to unzip her boots when the comm chirped into life.

Swallowing a sigh, she crossed over to her desk to answer it.

In spite of her weariness, she couldn't help the goofy grin that lit her face when she saw who was calling.

"Spock!" she greeted him happily. "I didn't expect to hear from you tonight."

No twitch of his deliciously pouty lips suggested he was equally pleased to see her.

"Lieutenant," he stated officiously, "I would like you to go to my office in the Martinet Building. Several data strips concerning the ship's roster were inadvertently delivered there after I left for the evening. Bring them to my quarters within the next half hour."

Frowning, Nyota protested. "Can't you send your _own_ aide? I just got in!"

"While Cadet Utrecht has codes to enter my office, he does not have after-hours access to the building itself."

_Damn it_! His use of her new rank both formalized the request, making it an order, and served to remind her that rewards came with responsibility. As a lieutenant and Academy Aide for Advanced Phonology and Advanced Acoustical Engineering, she could go where few other cadets could—whenever she wanted, or _was_ wanted, to go.

"Yes, Commander," she said through clenched teeth. No use in asking him why he couldn't go himself; if she wanted Enterprise, she needed to get used to taking orders from her fiancé.

.

.

He was on her the moment she stepped through the door.

The case of data strips he had so desperately needed was plucked out of her hands and carelessly tossed onto the console table near the entrance to his quarters. Before she even had a chance to question or protest his unusual behavior, strong arms imprisoned her against his hard, hot body. Insistent lips explored her own with an intensity they normally didn't reach before several minutes of making out had usually passed.

Nyota was breathless by the time he lifted his head from hers. He did not, she noticed, make any move to release her. _What the _hell_?_

"You have been feeling neglected," he stated, as if she had asked the question aloud.

"No!" she lied. "Well… yes. Maybe a little. But, I understand. It's just… Orion roommate. Vulcan fiancé."

"Yes, I see how that has been problematic," he said, nodding sagely. Inexplicably, the sight of his head solemnly bobbing up and down, his expression even more serious than usual, spiked her already-heightened libido. Which, of course, spiked his. Briefly, he considered buffering their link, but decided against it. "However, I have no Orion roommate and yet I have been feeling neglectful. Both of our respective difficulties shall be rectified soon."

"I'm moving in with you?" she teased, but wasn't fully able to keep a hint of enthusiasm from her voice. It nearly made him smile. He settled for tightening his hold on her, instead.

"No," he told her, "but I have secured our passage to Vulcan. Our van-kal t'telan will coincide with the nineteenth anniversary of your birth."

"And the kun-ut-kal-if-fi?"

"As you are not Vulcan, it should not be unnecessary. My parents did not marry in that fashion," he explained. "For the sake of your parents and my mother, we will formalize our union when we are able. Until then, however, the van-kal t'telan will be sufficient for you to be considered my adun'a."

"We won't need to get to T'Pau or even just a healer if your… Time begins while we're not on Vulcan?"

Spock pulled her back into his arms and began nuzzling her neck.

"It is not strictly necessary, no. You are all that I will require," he murmured against her cool skin. "However, if it will make you feel more 'married' to have the full ceremony, I can ask Mother to make the arrangements should that come to pass."

Nyota relaxed into his embrace as her arms slid around his waist at last.

"Will you be comfortable doing that?" she whispered.

"No."

"Would you prefer that I take care of it?"

"It is traditionally the role of one's ko-kugalsu to do so."

"And if T'Pau or Sarek decides that I'm not worthy and sends a bevy of Vulcan bitches for a ko-telsu kali-fi, you'll have my back, right?"

"If you a face a wife challenge, I will not be allowed to intervene. However, your progress in Suus Mahna, combined with your official Starfleet training, leave me in no doubt that you would emerge triumphant."

"I'd better," she said, and tilted her head back to receive his kiss.

.

Spock's hands seemed to be everywhere at once. Stroking her face. Sliding up under her skirt to test the firmness of her ass. Clutching her closer to the growing firmness in his loose-fitting trousers.

_Gah_!

"I'm not up for 'practice' tonight, Spock," Nyota warned, trying to pull away from his ingenious, questing fingers. "If you plan to stop before this is finished, you'd better do it right now. Otherwise, I think I might try to harm you."

"I have no intention of stopping unless you order me to do so, beloved."

Taking her small cool hand in his large warm one, he led her towards the bedroom.

.

"Wow, only nine months as a couple and we're already moving past third base," she quipped. "I feel a little naughty."

"'Third base'?" he quoted, raising a brow. "You refer to the old American practice of comparing the stages of sexual contact to the game called 'baseball'. If you have found my techniques for bringing you physical release lacking, you should have informed me."

"Lacking?" she echoed. "No. K'diwa, no! Nothing's been… lacking. You've been great. I just wondered when it would be okay to try… more."

He paused halfway through removing her right boot.

"Nyota, although our betrothal is not yet formalized in the Vulcan tradition, it is still my duty to ensure this need was met for you." Leaning forward, he bent his head and trailed kisses across her collarbone. "It has been your _right_. You should have insisted."

"But, I thought… you know… I didn't want…"

Spock finished pulling off her boot and moved on to the left without removing his lips from her person.

"I recognize the value in alleviating sexual tension, ashayam," he murmured against her neck. "While some of my father's people might choose meditation as a method for mitigation, others find physical contact to be preferable, as well as more effective. I am in the latter group, Nyota. I thought you understood that."

"Well, uh, yeah. Gah!" She gasped as his fingers slid beneath her skirt and slipped under the waistband of her panties. "But after what happened that time… I thought you were satisfied with 'everything but.'"

"I have no fear of making love to you, k'diwa," he whispered. "I was waiting for my ko-kugalsu to let me know she was ready."

"Just a few months ago, you said it was still too soon!"

"At the time, I was thinking only of your physical readiness, beloved," he explained, leaning back and sliding the no-nonsense white undergarment down her smooth brown legs. "You have long since reached a level of comfort with sexual activity sufficient to negate a need for further delay." His mouth followed his fingers, leaving a searing trail in its wake.

"So why didn't you tell me that?" she bit out against the surge of aching pleasure.

"Why didn't you ask again?"

"Oh, love," she murmured as he moved up again to unfasten her skirt, "you _still_ have so much to learn about women."

.

Spock's original intention had been to spend a great deal of time introducing his betrothed to the full spectrum of ecstasy possible when two sentient beings, both capable of experiencing extraordinarily deep emotions, loved each other.

But Vulcan stamina, much like Vulcan control, had its limits. That, combined with Nyota's exhaustion and her enthusiastic, though less than skilled participation, put an earlier end to their activities than either expected or preferred.

"I totally noticed that our anniversary is going to always be the same as my birthday in Terran years, Buster," she whispered as she drifted off into a contented sleep. "Don't think you're gonna get away with giving me just the one gift."

"Yes, dear," said Spock, and he meant it.

* * *

**A/N:** Apologies for the delay. Moving house got me off-track. Big thank yous to the women of STCC & WA for months of multiple reads. SpockLikesCats and TalesFromTheSpockSide, nerdielady and hopefuladdict saved me from posting a _complete_ disaster.

Check out ... s/6061201/1/Riding_In_Spacecraft_With_MothersInLaw to learn what Amanda told Uhura.

Disclaimer: I don't own any Star Trek characters or concepts, and I don't profit from writing about them.


	11. Eccl3:1—8

"Is there any particular reason why you haven't sent me a recommendation for your Cadet Uhura? " Pike glanced up from the PADD he was reading. "Everyone else is singing her praises."

"As you have said, Captain, my _Lieutenant_ Uhura does not require my approbation to recommend her to you. Her work speaks for itself" Spock gestured toward Pike's PADD "and her other instructors have spoken on her behalf."

"That still doesn't explain why she isn't on _your_ list. If you don't want her on my ship, I'll make sure she doesn't come anywhere near it. But you've got to level with me, Spock. Will this woman's presence pose a problem for you?"

"Captain, I—" Spock glanced towards Pike's open door. He lowered his voice. "Captain, given the nature of my relationship with the lieutenant, I think it best that I recuse myself from any decisions directly concerning her placement following graduation."

Pike was both stunned and a little puzzled. He was unused to seeing the unflappable young Vulcan flustered. As his future commanding officer, he'd been given a copy of the report generated during the disclosure hearing Spock had insisted was necessary before he could begin teaching classes. Nothing revealed at the time would render his first officer's recommendation ineligible.

The relationship had been described as a "longstanding, quasi-familial affiliation" which had begun when the cadet was three years old and eventually become sufficiently significant as to influence Spock's decision to enter Starfleet. The board had been more than willing to look the other way if one of their most distinguished graduates ended up instructing a brilliant young woman who was halfway to being his little sister.

"What's the _problem_, Spock?" Pike asked again, testy because he wasn't sure where his protégé was leading. "Did you do something to piss that girl off again? If I recall correctly, she's been angling for the Enterprise almost since she got here. Are you trying to tell me that she's changed her mind now that you're going to be my XO?"

"Sir, I am attempting to inform you that the parameters of our association have changed." He paused, looking down. "However, I foresee no hesitation, on either my or Nyota's part, to serving together. Rather the opposite, actually."

Chris searched the Vulcan's face for any hint that his young first officer was saying what Chris thought he was hearing. Except for the quiet voice and his half-shuttered eyes, Spock appeared the way he always did: calm, aloof and impassive. His words, though, implied something the older man found hard to fathom.

It wasn't that he didn't believe Spock was capable of falling for a great mind stuck behind a face which, if rumors were true, was more than simply pretty; he just had a hard time accepting that the kid would do anything about it.

"Commander, you're going have to be more explicit than that," he said, and while part of him hoped Spock would disabuse him of the notion, another — far larger — part really wanted to believe that the kid had finally found the right woman. He didn't hesitate to ask his next question, in spite of the discomfort it might cause his companion. "Are you engaging in a romantic or sexual relationship with her? Are you doing both."

Spock looked up sharply, met Chris's eyes fully for the first time since beginning his "confession."

"Exactly ten months ago, I asked Lieutenant Uhura to be my wife, sir," he said. "We will travel to my homeworld during the February break to formalize our betrothal."

* * *

"This is ridiculous, Nyota! Your family doesn't even celebrate Christmas."

"We _didn't_. But since Muta met this Melody girl, he's been trying all kinds of new things. 'Penda is pretty sure they'll be giving gifts to all of us this year. Wouldn't it be kind of weird not to give them anything in return?"

"Not when it's not your holiday." Jane Faransdóttir eyed the crowded mall corridor shrewdly. She saw a break in the mass of people and plunged in, dragging her friend behind her. "I'd totally get it if your _parents_ wanted to make this girl feel welcome. But have you even _met_ this girl?"

"Well, no. Not in person. But I've talked to her over the comm. And Muta talks abut her all the time, so I sort of have an idea of her likes and dislikes."

"Humph. Do a few chats on the comm make her worth beggaring yourself and braving _this_?" She waved a hand at the last-minute shoppers currying from store to store.

"Ja-ane!" Nyota cajoled. "I'm not looking for anything really expensive. Just something that says, 'I don't hate you for stealing my big brother.'"

"And you need my help why? What the hell do I know about how Americans do Christmas? Mamma and I hardly celebrate it because Pabbi is Muslim and, besides, Christmas is really different in Iceland."

"You grew up in San Francisco! Besides, I've only got two days and you're the best shopper I know. With you on the job, we'll be in and out less than thirty minutes from now."

Jane shrugged and kept walking.

"What's going on over _there_?" Nyota asked, pointing at a long queue trailing out of a store she thought dealt exclusively in bed textiles.

Glancing over, Jane scowled. "They started this new thing. Personalized hugging-pillows. It's so stupid. People are wasting a gazillion credits on those things when for less than an eighth of the price those thieves are charging, they could slap one together themselves. Give me a two and a half meters of jersey and an hour and I could make one with my eyes closed."

"Personalized hugging-pillow?"

"You know. Your image printed on a pillow sort of shaped like a giant stick-figure? It's all the rage for couples. That place will even make it smell like your favorite food or perfume or something."

"Why would anyone want to cuddle up to something that smells like dinner?" Nyota mused.

Jane shrugged again and led her into a store that sold inexpensive jewelry. "I don't know, but I sold three dozen of them already, and I just making them a week ago. And mine are way better than the garbage the sell over there."

"Can you make one of me?"

"Sure," the older girl said. "And I can even make sure it's shaped like you."

"You mean like a giant stick-figure?"

"A giant stick-figure wearing really hot boots." She grabbed her friend's head and turned it towards a case filled with carved jadeite earrings. "That way!"

.

Fifteen minutes later, the young women exited the mall. Nyota clutched a small jewelry box , but two bags dangled from each of Jane's wrists. "Best shopper I know" failed to give adequate merit to her skills.

"So, what are you getting for your family?" she asked as they approached the nearest transport station.

Nyota's face twisted in confused trepidation. "Umm," she said, causing her friend's lips to spread into a wide grin.

"I can't wait to hear all about your trip, En," Jane said.

* * *

In order to accommodate the seven percent of Starfleet cadets who observed the Christian holiday, and because North America in general still tended to celebrate the secular holiday, Academy classes typically ended early on the twenty-fifth day of December. When that date occurred on a Friday, they were often cancelled altogether. Nyota had arranged for tickets on a shuttle leaving not long after the conclusion of Thursday's classes.

Spock was grateful for the three-day weekend that afforded him a chance to travel to Garissa for the Uhuras' first Christmas. While he hadn't been very interested in taking part in a celebration that was unfamiliar even to the family, he'd looked forward to the short respite from San Francisco's damp and cold. Putting up with Dr. M'Umbha's stealth mothering (as well as the gentle teasing that Wakufunzi women were seemingly genetically predisposed to forcing upon their loved ones) was a small price to pay in exchange for a brief stay in the District's warm, dry climate.

Nyota had also been looking forward to the short break. Her enthusiasm had manifested itself in the form of a contagious playfulness that still fizzed through his system. While it wasn't an uncomfortable feeling, he was grateful that he rarely experienced it outside the Uhura compound. This time, however, it had begun outside the shuttleport in San Francisco when Nyota had turned to him and, grasping his ears through the woolen cap he wore to stave off the cold, declared, "You are _so_ cute, Spocky!"

He'd protested, of course, and had quickly removed her hands from his person. But that hadn't stopped the familiar buzzing he knew from long experience signaled an urge to tease and play.

The strength of the compulsion increased when they reached the Uhura compound and received warm greetings from Nyota's parents and sister. Not for the first time, he wondered if the women of his ko-kugalsu's family were using their peculiar psi-Talents to influence him. He was fairly certain this wasn't the case. M'Umbha Uhura bint Wakufunzi was adamant that her children refrain from using their abilities frivolously.

"Why don't you two go freshen up and change," she suggested, eying their cold-weather clothing as Spock deposited several packages around the potted fir placed in a corner of the massive front room. "I've put you both in Ennie's old room."

"Okay, Mama," Nyota replied. "We'll be back down in a few minutes."

M'Umbha glanced at Spock then turned a sly grin on her youngest child. "Take your time, binti," she said. "There's no hurry."

"Thank you, Dr. M'Umbha," Spock said as he joined them near the staircase. "We shall return in no more than three quarters of an hour."

He heard Upenda murmur something that ended in "quickie" followed by her father's sharp admonition as he led Nyota up the stairs.

.

Nyota insisted on giving him his gift as soon as they'd changed clothes.

Sitting on the bed, facing the French doors that offered an appealing view of the red and brown countryside beyond Benjamin Uhura's gardens, Spock opened the long, flat box she offered. He pulled out a large flat cushion that shaped into an imprecise representation of his ko-kugalsu's silhouette, his brow slightly furrowed.

"You know I do sleep on a pillow, beloved."

"It's not for sleeping _on_," she chided cheerfully and sank onto the bed next to him. Bending down, she pulled up the left leg of her lightweight trousers and clipped her betrothal gift around her ankle.

"What is its purpose, then?"

Smiling patiently, as if the answer were obvious, Nyota leaned over and brushed her lips against his jaw. "She'll keep you company whenever I'm not available. And her scent is supposed to be relaxing. Comforting."

Still perplexed, Spock continued to stare at the pillow. It was lightly perfumed with her personal blend of fragrance overlaying a fainter aroma of his preferred meditation incense. His beloved's image had been faithfully reproduced on the surface but the two-dimensional picture held none of the appeal flesh and blood woman.

"I do not foresee a time when I will make use of this pillow," he told her, laying the pillow across her knees. "You must forgive me for preferring the real thing."

Nyota opened her mouth to protest.

In a poorly-conceived attempt to redirect the conversation, Spock made a critical error. The hum of what he thought of as his Wakufunzi emotion kept him from considering his next words carefully.

"I spoke with Captain Pike two days ago."

Nyota rolled her eyes. She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. He only did this with her, she was certain. Stating the obvious went against his Vulcan upbringing. Every once in a while, though, he drew out a story for her benefit, to satisfy her sense of the dramatic, he claimed. Sometimes — like when the news was good— she appreciated it. Other times he used it as a stalling tactic when he wanted to tell her something she didn't want to hear. She wondered which it would be now.

"You talk to Pike every day, k'diwa."

"On Wednesday, we discussed you."

Her jaw dropped and her head snapped up. She grabbed his chin and turned his head until she could meet his eyes. "What? Why?"

Spock briefly related his conversation with the captain.

"Hold on a second," she ordered. Spock felt her cheerful mood begin to ebb. Her rising anger had no effect on his own good spirits. "I've been working my _ass_ off for the last three and half years because I wanted the best starship in the fleet. To get that, I needed _be_ the best in my field. I know I've achieved that. You know it too, but you — the one person whose opinion he values probably above all others when it comes to his ship — couldn't be bothered to give me a recommendation? And then you told him about us as an excuse?

"Here!" she snapped, shoving the pillow in his lap. "Maybe you'll come to appreciate her when I'm stuck on another ship."

Spock's happiness refused to be thwarted.

"I am perfectly able to function — at least for short intervals — outside your immediate vicinity," he said moving the pillow aside again and pulling the real Nyota onto his lap. When she didn't try to move away, he began trailing fingers beneath her shirt. "However, as Captain Pike's interest and the references of your other instructors are likely to carry more weight than the lack of my own recommendation, I do not foresee a time when I shall have need of an inferior facsimile."

He could feel her indignation spark. But he sensed his hands were igniting different kind of fire. A spurt of amusement rippled through him as he acknowledged the metaphorical language she inspired in his thoughts.

"'Inferior?' Spocky, you should have _seen_ the dross they were selling at the mall! The craftsmanship of Jane's doll is at least a thousand times better than what the stores offer. And don't laugh at me!"

"I was not laughing at you, ashal-veh," he hedged, and ignored the skepticism emanating from her. Touching his lips to the spot behind his beloved's sensitive ear, he murmured, "Nor was it my intention to disparage your friend or her art. I was merely pointing out my preference for the living—." He punctuated the word a kiss on her neck. "Breathing—." And followed it with another on her shoulder. "Nyota Uhura. _She_ is far superior to a pillow stuffed with cotton and incense, no matter how well-made it is."

"Nice save!" With a grin he could feel through the link, she reached back to ruffle his hair. "You learn quickly, and you learn well."

"Pleasing you is not only my duty," he told her, "but also something I find considerably pleasing."

She disentangled herself from his embrace, but didn't move from his lap. Twisting around, she cupped his face in her hands, her own expression serious.

"Are you trying to seduce me in order to avoid further argument about my posting?"

"Yes," he admitted. He didn't have the grace to look contrite. That wouldn't have been unusual except that the half-smile of his lips appeared decidedly smug.

"How many times do I have to tell you that isn't going to work?"

"That depends on your ultimate goal. If it is convincing me of the veracity of your claim, you will have to continue until your actions support your words. If you merely wish me to increase my efforts at distraction, no further assertions are necessary."

He loosened the drawstring at her waist and pushed the linen trousers past her hips. She wiggled to ease the garment's passage, then curled up sideways in his lap. Tracing a finger down her left leg, he leaned down to kiss the knee. His hand continued its journey until it reached the anklet.

Spock knew she hated taking it off, but by the end of the long winter break she had already given up protesting his edict that she wear it only when they were alone or away from campus. He straightened, pulling her in tight to his chest. She deserved, and received, another kiss for her compliance. He got his own reward when she started shivering and purring.

"Are my efforts having the desired effect, Lieutenant?" he murmured against her collarbone.

Whenever he behaved this way, she was lost. Didn't have a chance against his charm.

"Yes. But only because you're right," she told him. "I'll be on the Enterprise — whether you are or not."

And then she let him pull her shirt over her head.

.

.

Twenty-three minutes and a hurried second shower later, a thoroughly sated Nyota tried not to blush under her sister's knowing gaze. Spock's placid expression gave no indication of what they had been up to. Mama and Baba pretended they had no clue, ether.

"My, dada," Upenda said, her sly tone a warning that she was in full-on teasing mode, "you and kaka look remarkably 'refreshed.' I figured you two would be up there a lot longer. Guess not. "

Mama's speaking look shut her up, but did nothing to stop the young doctor's laughter.

"Presents!" Eight pairs of eyes swung over to Baba at his unexpected exclamation. He stood and walked over to the potted tree. "Melody says her family opens their presents on Christmas Eve. Christmas Day is for going to church and visiting relatives. Why don't we follow their example?"

Upenda looked skeptical. "You want us to go to church tomorrow?" Although much of the Uhura clan was nominally Christian, Baba's parents hadn't raised their children within any particular denomination, and he'd never taken his own children to a religious service.

"I think we should open our presents now," Baba replied patiently. "Then it will be out of the way when Muta and his Melody arrive tomorrow."

"Oh! Oh, yes," Upenda said. "That's a good idea."

The shrewd calculation on her sister's face left Nyota suspicious. A minute later, her distrust was vindicated.

"What's this?" she asked, holding up the object she'd unwrapped from the little box her sister had placed in her lap.

'Penda grinned evilly. "It's a dental guard," she said. "We prescribe them for biters. I've modified this one so you can wear it to avoid any more… mishaps."

Nyota glared at her older sister, and only Spock's warm hand at the back of her neck kept her from flinging the offending article towards Upenda's white teeth.

"Dada," Spock said, "I believe you should open my present now. Nyota's time was limited and she was unable to secure gifts for the family. I took it upon myself to select appropriate items for everyone."

He rose to his feet and walked over to the tree. Without a moment's hesitation, he selected a gift that was slightly larger than the one Upenda had given her sister and carried over to her.

Eagerly, Upenda tore at the wrapping and lifted the lid. Spock had earned a reputation for being a stellar gift-giver, in spite of the fact that Vulcans rarely engaged in the practice. She reached in and pulled out her present.

Her smile faded.

"What the hell, kaka?"

"It is a chastity belt," Spock said with feigned innocence. "I believe you might find it useful when Axin Loures is visiting."

The look 'Penda gave him was pure fire, and Nyota wasn't sure her sister would hesitate in launching the collection of delicate gold chains, formed into a shape vaguely reminiscent of panties, at her sa-kugalsu.

"Children!" Mama snapped, but her eyes were shining. "Enough." She turned to Spock and winked. "Welcome to the family, mwana. I always knew you fit right in."

The rest of the gift-sharing was mundane in comparison. Baba got a new CO2 extractor — "Grandfather's engineers upgraded the design," Spock informed him. "Output is increased, while expended energy is greatly reduced." — for his stillroom. Mama received three beautiful Vulcan-designed robes.

Mama and Baba gave Spock a subscription to a new science journal, and Nyota got yet another pair of earrings. The nephrite hoops would look well with her engagement anklet, everyone agreed.

Not surprisingly, Upenda hadn't gotten anything for Spock. "I figured Ennie's present would be gift enough for both of them," she joked, and Spock countered with, "Surely the dental apparatus is superfluous when paired with the steel prophylactic you sent on my birthday?"

The family cast surprised looks at Upenda, but all conceded that Spock's closing salvo had deftly secured him the last word. The two males escaped the front room claiming dinner preparation as their excuse before the three women were finished laughing.

.

* * *

.

Spock was well aware that the past fifty-seven days had not passed any more quickly than any other fifty-seven days had gone by, and yet the date for his second van-kal t'telan seemed to arrive almost without notice. He was forced to acknowledge the truth of the human saying "Time flies when you're having fun."

Time flew at such a velocity, in fact, he found himself failing to live up to Nyota's obsessive need for punctuality.

"I can't believe you're not ready yet!" she exclaimed after bursting into his sleeping chamber, two days before their van-kal t'telan was scheduled to take place on Vulcan. "We leave in three hours!"

"Even with the extra items you will undoubtedly insist I bring along," he told her, "it should take me no longer than seven point three minutes to pack."

Nyota shook her head and strode over to his wardrobe to retrieve his duffel. When she yanked open the door, the "hugging pillow" fell at her feet.

"You've been keeping her in the closet?" She snatched up the pillow and tossed it over her shoulder. When she turned, her face displayed ill-concealed amusement. "How is she supposed to keep you company if you leave her stuffed in there?"

Spock chose not to apprise her of how, on some nights when they'd deemed it imprudent for her to remain in his quarters, he'd slept clutching the pillow close. _Not_ because he needed required its company, but because he found the traces of her scent that mingled with the aroma of the meditation incense she'd mixed in with the stuffing to be soothing.

"It is stored in the closet when it not in use," he allowed. "To do otherwise would be indiscreet."

"Oh really? Suddenly you're worried about discretion even though you let the cat out of the bag two months ago?" she queried, raising an eyebrow in unconscious imitation of his own quirk. It was far more attractive on her face, he mused as he remembered that mirroring behavior was an indicator of attraction and affection in humans. "So," she went on, "when you said 'when not in use,' was that intended to be an indication that there are times when she _is_ 'in use'?"

He was Vulcan enough — and had been practicing Dr. Uhura's methods long enough — to admit when his woman had caught him out.

"That was not my intention, no," he said. "However, that _is_ the truth of the matter."

.

.

Amanda Grayson whisked her away from Spock the moment they arrived at the S'chn T'gai home. The fawning and primping started as soon as the doors closed on Spock and Sarek.

"M'Umbha will do the same when you get married," she claimed as she ordered her daughter-to-be into a tub full of warm scented water. It was a luxury on Vulcan. "You may as well get used to it now."

An hour later, she pushed Nyota into a chair set before a large vanity. Using her hip to spin the chair around so that it faced away from the mirror, the older woman began to gather her implements of torture (or beautification) while Nyota smiled gamely.

"You know, when he first told me to add you to my list of potential daughters-in-law, I wasn't convinced it was a good idea." She laughed softly then began pomading and twisting and curling and pinning the long dark strands. "I was so afraid he'd botch it!"

"Well, actually, Ko-mekh… he _did_. Didn't I tell you? It took the _whole_ day for him to get it right!" Nyota found herself suppressing a chuckle as she remembered the conversation that hadn't been remotely funny at the time. "He didn't bother with saying, 'Oh, by the way, Nyota, I'm madly in love you' first."

Amanda recalled the warning she'd given her son and rolled her eyes, still smiling a little indulgently — but a more little ruefully. "No, I guess he wouldn't have thought it was necessary. No matter what the human women in his life might have said about it." She slid that last pin into the elaborate coiffure and wiped her hands on a small towel hanging from her waist.

Nyota beamed. "But then, after I freaked out a little and he _showed_ me…." Her breath caught and her stomach fluttered at the memory. "It was…"

Grinning in return, the older woman selected several tubes and pots of cosmetics fromt he vanity table. "It _is_, isn't it?" she asked quietly once it was clear Nyota wouldn't continue. "The way they love is amazing, Ennie. I'm so glad you know how it feels. And it's only going to get better. I really _am_ pleased he chose you."

"Even after…?" Nyota clicked her teeth together a few times instead of going on.

Throwing her head back, Amanda laughed heartily at the unsubtle reference to the reason behind their trip to a Vulcan temple.

"_Especially_, after Wehk Aitlunlar, Ennie," she said. "Now I can be sure he'll be in safe hands. And safe from teeth. Now close your eyes."

Amanda brushed layers of shadows in dusky plum and three shades of grey over the girl's upper eyelid. A dark line, painted along the edge of thick lashes and extended beyond the corner of each eye, completed the look. Scrutinizing her handiwork as objectively as she could, she gave a pleased smile and reached for a pot of lip stain the color of dark raspberries.

She squeezed Nyota's shoulders as she turned her around to face the mirror. "All done, sweetheart," she said, and felt her own eyes get a little misty as the young woman stared at her face and hair in wonder. "He's waiting for you."

.

.

A year before Nyota had told Ko-mekh she was celebrating her best birthday ever. Today, Spock proved her wrong. She wondered how he could possibly make her twentieth even better.

The ceremony had been simple, lasting only moments. Although she'd known it would be — Spock, Ko-mekh and the temple priestesses had all told her exactly what to expect — she was still surprised that with just a brief touch of a healer and few words intoned through the three-way meld, Spock's mind had become nearly as much a part of her as her own. It was astounding to know that sense of oneness would only increase after their permanent joining.

.

.

Amanda's gaze went soft as she watched her husband speak with their new daughter. Sarek, though reserved as usual, somehow managed to ease Nyota's nervousness. Perhaps that was _because_ of his reserve, Amanda mused, thinking about Nyota's last visit to Vulcan when the young woman had encountered a very different S'chn T'gai Sarek.

Spock appeared at her side.

"You have made me happy, my son." She gestured toward the pair she continued to watch. "It seems I am not the only one."

"Yes," he agreed. "I am very happy, mother."

* * *

.

* * *

.

* * *

Nyota wasn't especially happy about wasting her time watching Jim Kirk fail his third attempt at the Kobayashi Maru. She was still annoyed that he'd watched her stripping off her uniform the night before, and she'd always had trouble taking the other cadet seriously. No one could really blame her for behaving accordingly. Even his sidekick, McCoy (who really should have known better. What the hell were they teaching in med school these days?) was barely able to hide his sarcasm and impatience.

Except Kirk didn't fail and Nyota's plans to spend the weekend with her sa-kugalsu went the way of their simulated Klingon attackers.

.

"How the hell did that kid beat your test," asked one of the simulation technicians.

"I do not know," Spock said, staring at down at Kirk from the control room.

.

.

It him took two weeks to figure it out. He put off telling Nyota until she could spend the night in his bed without rushing off to early-morning classes the next day.

Tracing a finger along her jaw in the darkness of his bed chamber, he explained what he had uncovered. Nyota merely shrugged and wrapped her arms around his torso and twined her legs with his. It was by far her favorite sleeping position.

"If my findings are deemed evidence enough to warrant a disciplinary hearing—"

"Which they will," she put in sleepily.

"you could be investigated as an accomplice because of your association with Cadet Gaila and your participation in the simulation. You would undoubtedly be exonerated, but in the course of the investigation, the true nature of our relationship could be exposed."

"K'diwa," she began, suddenly sounding alert, "I'm not worried because I know _you're_ not really worried. Don't forget. I've got a direct feed on your frequency whenever I want to listen to in."

.

.

His lips descended the valley between her small firm breasts. She hummed happily and he purred in concert.

His communicator chirruped. She stiffened and he froze.

"Don't," she ordered, "answer that."

Sock sighed. "I must. The alert pattern indicates that the call is coming from a communicator belonging to a high-level officer."

.

Spock clicked his communicator closed and climbed off the bed.

"I did not expect the board to act so quickly."

"But I just heard you say the hearing isn't until this afternoon," Nyota protested.

His gaze flicked from the floor to his mate. She was sitting up, arms folded under he breasts. He wished he had not answered the call.

"Admiral Barnett has asked me to meet with him within the hour," he apologized. "He would like to further discuss several points before the hearing convenes."

They showered and dressed quickly. Nyota huffed out a frustrated groan as she dragged her sweater over her head. They hadn't even gotten started!

"Amazing!" She yanked her short red skirt into place. "Kirk-the-Jerk can lok-block even when he's not in the room!" Laughing at her own rhymes, she lost the fierce scowl and smiled up at Spock's unsmiling face.

"You must be more careful of your conduct, Lieutenant," he chided his mate. "Even if we are discovered today, I believe you will still have a ninety-eight point eight percent chance of receiving your chosen assignment. Even now — _especially_ now — however, the board may alter their decisions based on our behavior."

Chuckling, Nyota dismissed his concern and bent to zip her boots. "Nobody remains on their best behavior long while working with Jim Kirk, Commander. I think they'll give me a pass. And as for our engagement, well, no one would ever believe _you_ were capable of real misconduct." She rose up on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. "But I'll try to be good. Promise."

She was already pivoting to leave when his arm shot out and spun her back around. "After the hearing, ashayam," he murmured directly into her sensitive ear, "you may show me exactly how good you intend to be."

.

.

James T. Kirk, son of George S. Kirk, Sr., had many lessons to learn. That much was clear to Spock as he listened to the cadet protest the intended lesson of the Kobayashi Maru simulation.

A distress call from his home planet ensured "After the hearing" never came.

* * *

If it wasn't for the natural disaster taking place on his XO's homeworld, Christopher Pike might have chuckled to himself. This wasn't how he had always imagined the Enterprise's maiden voyage beginning, but at least everything else had gone smoothly once the helmsman had figured out how release the parking brake.

And then a swollen George Samuel Kirk's son burst onto the bridge with two other cadets on his heels.

.

"Vulcan is not experiencing a natural disaster," James Tiberius Kirk declared. "It's being attacked by Romulans."

Incensed that the kid would try to draw attention to himself in this way, Chris dismissed him and promised McCoy a chat in the future.

But the cadet wouldn't stop talking, and his persistence induced Spock to speak which was the _last_ thing the kid should have wanted after his antics. Pike decided to see how Spock would handle it.

"Look, I _get_ it," Kirk snapped at the first officer. "You're a great orator. I'd love to do it again with you, too."

"I can remove the cadet—" Spock began telling Pike.

"Try it!" the boy interrupted. "This Cadet is trying to save the bridge."

"By recommending a full stop mid-warp during a rescue mission?" Spock was slipping, letting his annoyance show. Pike wondered if he should step in.

"It's not a rescue mission," the kid insisted. "Listen. It's an attack."

"Based on what facts?" Spock wanted to know. His voice remained flat, but Chris wondered just how badly Kirk was testing that vaunted Vulcan control.

"That _same_ anomaly — a lightning storm in space — that we saw today, also occurred on the day of my birth. Before a Romulan ship attacked the USS Kelvin." He turned to Chris, and said in a considerably more respectful, but no less urgent, tone, "You _know_ that, sir, I read your dissertation. That ship, which had formidable and advanced weaponry, was never seen or heard from again."

Intrigued in spite of Kirk's insubordination, Pike decided to let him continue.

"The Kelvin attack took place on the edge of Klingon space and at twenty-three hundred hours last night, there was an attack. Forty-seven Klingon warbirds destroyed by a Romulan, sir. It was reported that the Romulans were in one ship, one massive ship."

If what the cadet claimed was true…

"And you know of this Klingon attack how?"

"Sir, I intercepted and translated the message myself," the third cadet said. "Kirk's report is accurate."

Pike recognized the face, even though he had spent nearly four years avoiding confirming his suspicions about the name.

"We're warping into a trap, sir. The Romulans are waiting for us, I promise you that," Kirk said, and by now Pike was starting to believe it might be true.

Even Spock appeared convinced. "The cadet's logic is sound," he conceded. "And Lieutenant Uhura is unmatched in xenolinguistics, we would be wise to accept her conclusion."

Pike started issuing orders, and when the communications officer admitted he might not be able to tell the difference between Vulcan and Romulan, the captain turned to his XO's fiancée.

"What about you?" he asked, as if he didn't already know. He respected her fiancé and wanted to protect his damned heightened sense of propriety. But it wasn't a bad way to test her mettle under fire, either. "Do you speak Romulan, Cadet…?"

"Uhura," she replied without batting an eye. "All three dialects, sir."

He ordered her to relieve the man Spock had picked by hand.

.

* * *

.

Captain Pike faced almost certain death on the colossal Romulan ship. The Enterprise went on despite severe damage and numerous casualties. Spock had no choice but to continue working, to make certain the starship and the beings it hosted continued to exist. There was no time for grief and questions about how the future unfold now that Nero had changed everything.

His world was gone, the greater part of its people destroyed. The survivors aboard the Enterprise were receiving medical attention and would need accommodations until they could be transferred to another ship or planet.

His mother was dead, her body lost in the singularity that was once a planet. He was not alone in feeling her absence from the family bond. He pushed aside his father's and his ko-kugalsu's grief .

Nyota. There was no time to think of her. She invaded his thoughts anyway.

_A tiny girl who huddled in his lap, fighting tears he'd caused, reminded him to feel_.

Spock marooned Kirk on Delta Vega. As acting captain, he needed admirable performances from everyone and the cadet's divisive actions and rhetoric would only distract and confuse his crew.

_A perceptive nine-year-old defined him in terms that were startlingly similar to those his human grandfather had used. Her matter-of-fact acceptance of all that he was and was not had instantly secured his friendship_.

The Enterprise limped towards the Laurentian System to join what was left of the fleet. It was a more logical choice than charging after Nero's ship without assistance.

_A fifteen-year-old, nearly as socially awkward as he had been at the time, behaved like a child while demanding a kiss. Months later, she embraced her own path, and gained his admiration in the process of growing up_. _He was already hers by the time the Marja Sklodowska returned to Earth._

._  
_

* * *

.

Only a great irony allowed him to completely shut her out. Newer bonds — especially those formed in adulthood — took time to settle along the pathways of two brains, and so were usually difficult to obstruct. Never especially good at suppressing his emotional reactions, Spock should not have been able to hide what he was feeling from his ko-kugalsu.

He suspected that some combination of her Betazoid ancestry and her training among those people — transfused to him when their minds were joined — gave him a greater command of his emotions than he would have otherwise managed. He wondered how long he could keep her at bay before that control began to slip.

.

"Everything is different now."

"Clarify." _Before_, he would have teased her about the imprecision of her declaration. Two days, six hours, thirty-seven minutes… Now, he found he needed additional time to formulate the words she did not want to hear, and which he did not wish to say.

"You know what I mean. So few ever left the planet for very long. So– so few made it to the… and now that Ko'mekh—" she broke off in a choked sob, but quickly forced herself in a semblance of composure. "And now, now that Vulcan is gone and there are so few left…"

"So, 'everything' by your definition means the ways in which _your_ future will progress? You focus on the unhappiness that the loss of over six billion lives has brought to _you_?"

She didn't mean to dismiss his pain in favor of her own, but she also refused to ignore the existence of her fears.

"Spock…" He was shutting her out of their bond, but she knew he did not mean the words as they sounded. He _could_ not. That much was apparent from the way her eyes softened.

"Forgive me, Nyota. Your tendency to care for others has not lessened," he said, relenting. "My love for you has not changed." Neither chose to acknowledge how little that mattered in the face of everything that _had_ changed.

_The needs of the many…_

She walked across the room to wrap her arms around his waist and press her face into his back.

"Tushah nash-veh k'du," she whispered.

His hands covered hers and squeezed.

"I grieve with thee," he echoed.

.

* * *

.

Since meeting Nyota Uhura, Spock realized, he had been attempting to live his life as a human. Since becoming her lover, he been relying less and less on meditation to order his thoughts and rein in his emotions. He could not continue in that manner.

Vulcan was gone. His mother was dead. His damaged ship had a new captain and its crew was being tested in ways far more trying than any of them had expected at the outset of this mission.

Until the Romulans were defeated, he needed to be entirely Vulcan. For his father's people. For the Enterprise. For Starfleet. For the Federation.

If he lived to see another day, the Spock his ko-kugalsu loved — had helped _create_ — could not continue.

He said none of this as he prepared to beam over to the Romulan's ship. Holding her close and covering her mouth with his, he allowed only his concerns of what might happen while he was away from the Enterprise flow through their bond.

"I will return," he promised and tried to mean it.

"You'd better," she ordered, letting him know she had not been fooled. "I'll be monitoring your frequency."

.

* * *

.

Watching the massive ship disappear into the black hole had fulfilled the unfamiliar desire for revenge. Earth — Spock's only remaining home — had been spared. For the moment, the Federation was safe.

Satisfaction was short-lived.

Vulcan was still gone. His mother could not be brought back. The numbers of father's people were still reduced to a tiny fraction of what they once had been. Logic still decreed he should abandon his chosen mate in order to help rebuild their numbers.

He found her in the sleeping alcove of his quarters again. While once seeing Nyota Uhura lying in his bed would have been a common enough occurrence, now…

Now, in the absence of that driving force, there was only the logic of the choice he must make.

She didn't stir as he reached for his meditation robe, then, laying it across the back of a chair, pulled off his tunic. She didn't speak, although he knew she was not sleeping.

"These are not your assigned quarters, Lieutenant." He didn't look at her as he spoke, continuing, instead, to exchange his uniform for the lightweight robe.

"No." Uhura didn't move from her place on his bed. "But I belong here. My place is at your side. Let me help you."

He didn't speak as he held out another, smaller robe.

.

As one, they emerged from the meditation trance. Nyota rose and walked over the bed, stripping off her robe as Spock extinguished the firepot.

"You must return to your quarters, Lieutenant," he whispered to her nude back. She halted and turned to face him. His sudden inhalation was audible, sharp. After a minute hesitation, she stepped towards him.

"Why? You want me here. I want to _be_ here."

"As you acknowledged earlier, circumstances are different now that my planet has been destroyed." He tried to hide his need from her but realized his control was already weakening. His ko-kugalsu had access to all that he felt.

She continued striding forward, ignoring his words, refusing to acknowledge the conflict inside of him. "Sexual desire is a not-unheard-of human reaction to grief. Psychologists have suggested that it might stem either from a desire to replace those who were lost, or from a need for the practitioners to affirm their own continued existence."

"I am not human." He searched for determination. For her sake.

"Nor are you Vulcan. You are both and you are neither. You are Spock and you feel this, too." Wrapping her arms around his waist, she pressed her face into the hairs of his chest. "I can feel it, ashayam. We share this… need."

"My duties to my people may preclude me from honoring my commitment to y—"

She tipped her head back, and her hands released his waist to grasp his face. "At this moment, you remain my sa-kugalsu and this is still where I belong."

"Nyota, please…"

"'Please' what?"

"Please do not ask me to cause you more pain than I have already and will most likely do in the future."

"This?" She drew a finger down his cheek. "This isn't pain, k'diwa. Feeling you suffer and doing nothing is painful. Sharing it with you, sharing my_self_ with you right now — no matter what comes next — is not painful."

He said nothing, but did not move away. She could feel his sense of duty and justice warring with his desire to capitulate. To hold on to her. To lose himself in her, if only for the moment.

"Spock, _I_ need this, too," she whispered despairingly, and her pain, combined with his own need, were enough to overwhelm the last of his resistance. "I lost her, too."

Even if he had not drawn in a choked, shuddering breath, she would have known he was close to losing the last of his control.

"Shi t'nash-veh wilat?" she asked, her voice stronger. "Shi t'du wilat?"

The dam broke.

"You belong with me," he replied, unable to keep the emotion that flowed freely through their bond from his voice. "I belong with you."

Gathering her into his arms, he pressed fevered kisses on her neck and shoulders. "Taluhk nash-veh k'dular," he murmured against her soft skin, and she shuddered beneath his touch. "Taluhk nash-veh k'dular," he repeated. "Taluhk nash-veh k'dular."

* * *

**A/N:** This the next to the last chapter, folks. The next one won't be up until I return from vacation.


	12. Ru1:16

It was good to be home. She kept telling herself that even though the forced leave still rankled.

Death was a daily possibility for Starfleet members who served on starships. They were expected to do their duties, even after losing loved ones. That she had been sent home like a little girl more than a month after returning to Earth and completing her final year at the Academy seemed like an insult to her ability to do her job. But the admiral had left her without any say in the matter.

"Go grieve with people you love," had been his parting words. "That's an order!" His expression had softened before she could issue another protest. "None of us are expected to be superheroes, Lieutenant," he'd said more gently. "You need this. And you've earned it."

_Tushah nash-veh k'du_.

She had felt like the whole universe should have disappeared along with Vulcan, once she was free to think about it. She was grateful for what she still had, but heartache borne alone had turned out to be as close to unmanageable as anything she'd experienced in her short life.

_Tushah nash-veh k'du_.

But with only the faint sense of Spock's shrouded presence in the back of her mind — neither had dared to suggest completely breaking the bond so close to his twenty-eight birthday — she felt as if she were alone.

_Tushah nash-veh k'du_.

Nyota's feet found their way along the garden paths without permission — or even input, really — from her mind.

_Tushah nash-veh k'du_.

The scent of jasmine, blooming in the gathering darkness, beckoned her, but she turned away from the place Spock had made his and turned instead into the brick enclosure directly across from it.

Roses dominated Amanda Grayson's garden in Garissa. It was a tiny reflection of the one she had nurtured on Vulcan. Nyota had often helped her father, or the woman he hired to help him, tend the space when Amanda hadn't been there to do it herself. The young woman's sense of loss swelled s she stood on the threshold of this space she now considered sacred.

A figure, darker silhouette against the fading light, caught her eye as she stepped through. The familiar outline of the tall form chased her breath away.

_Tushah nash-veh k'du_.

She was not so alone, after all.

"Spock!" But this was _not_ Spock, she noted as he turned to face her. And yet… "Who _are_ you?" The question came as a breathless whisper. She stepped closer to the tall, elderly Vulcan whose broad shoulders and lithe form so closely resembled those of her sa-kugalsu.

He walked forward until they were nearly touching, his hand raised in the ta'al.

"I am Spock, Nyota." His voice, so much more deeply resonant than the one she knew so well, though touched with age, was the fulfilled promise of Spock's lighter tenor. "It is pleasing to see you again."

Confusion warred with wonder. This _couldn't_ be her Spock. His mind, his body, his soul and his heart did not call to her. And yet, clearly, he _was_ Spock. The same chocolate-colored that had so often stared down at her, full of every emotion from annoyance to passion now watched her with open affection and… wistfulness.

"What happened to you?" Nyota reached forward, two fingers extended, but hesitated. "What _happened_?" she repeated.

For a moment, she saw disappointment flash in his eyes, only to be instantly replaced by resignation then… nothing.

Gesturing to a stone bench set close to high brick wall, he said, "Come. Sit. I will explain."

She walked over to the low seat and sat. He followed.

"I am not him," he began. And then he told her a tale she had already begun to guess on her own.

"I don't understand," she said once he finished speaking. "Why didn't you meet her before she was assigned to the Enterprise?"

"For many years, Nyota Uhura had been little more than a name to me: the daughter of a woman whom I greatly admired," Ambassador Spock explained, "and of the man to whom I owe my life. One of three children who perhaps would never have been born had the head of my clan not been grateful for my existence.

"M'Umbha Uhura was granted a full ambassadorship and left Vulcan while she was pregnant with her son, Muta. Even then, she and her husband were loath to be separated unnecessarily and one of his cousins was enlisted to monitor my progress. From the time the Uhuras left my home planet, our families were in contact almost solely through subspace. By the time Nyota entered the Academy after completing a graduate degree in Nairobi, I had already been assigned to the Enterprise under Captain Pike. It was pleasing to learn my t'dahsu did not have to wait so long to meet the other half of his heart and soul."

Tears threatened as Nyota watched this other version of her k'diwa look out across Amanda Grayson's garden. His heart and mind did not call to hers, but she could Hear his grief when she Listened closely. Adding to his sorrow was the last thing she wanted, but Spock had always valued honesty.

She slid her hand along the cool stone until her fingers covered his, letting her shields drop as she made contact.

Startled, Spock's gaze flew to hers as her own anguish flowed through the link.

"He changed his mind," she whispered.

* * *

Christopher Pike glanced up at the hiss of his door. He opened his mouth, ready to protest whatever latest torture Starfleet Medical was about to inflict on him, but shut it with a snap when his first officer walked in instead.

He couldn't stop the smile from stretching across his lips even as a voice in his head urged him to lob his pillow at the half-Vulcan.

_The kid's been through shit_, Christopher told himself. _He doesn't need more of it from me_.

But that didn't stop the heavy weight of regret from settling in his stomach as he thought of Cadet — no, _Lieutenant_ — Uhura. Just two days earlier girl had stormed into his hospital room ready to spit fire. But she'd looked worse than Spock did now by the time she'd calmed down enough to hear what Christopher had to say.

He waved his hesitant XO the rest of the way in. "Sit," he ordered, pointing to the chair beside his bed. Spock complied, his tense posture the only indicator of his wary confusion until he said, "I am not certain I understand why you have called me here, Admiral."

Pike nearly snorted at the title. Official word of his "promotion" hadn't been released yet, but he wasn't surprised that Spock was one of the very few who knew. Christopher wondered if Uhura had been the one to tell him. The idea made the fact that the Vulcan was playing stupid even more annoying.

_To hell with his fragile feelings_, the admiral thought.

"Don't play dumb, Spock," he said gruffly, a fierce scowl replacing the warm smile. "I told you you've got another cadet problem, and you're here because I expect you to fix this one, too!"

Spock didn't give an inch. Maintaining his perplexed expression, he steepled his hands and continued to gaze at Pike.

"Sir," he said, "Lieutenants Uhura and Kirk have both already graduated. As they are the only 'cadets' with whom it has ever been suggested I might have had difficulties, I truly am at a loss as to your meaning."

"Damn it, Spock!" Christopher levered himself into an upright position and adjusted the bed accordingly. He silently congratulated himself on the ease with which he had completed the maneuver, suddenly confident that he would be out of this bed in time for Kirk's advancement ceremony the next month. "I mean the girl, and you know it!

"But it wouldn't hurt you to consider making nice with Kirk, either," he went on. "If you know they've given me the five bars, then you also must know they're going to give him the Enterprise and, Heaven knows why, he's set on having you as his number one."

"That may be impossible, sir. My people now face extinction," Spock replied. "I cannot ignore the likelihood that I will be called upon to help rebuild my race. Should that happen, I intend to resign my commission."

"Fine! Go there for a little while, make a donation, and come back right away. Or, better yet, take Uhura with you. Command will grant you both the leave. Because I don't see the _reason_ in giving up a promising career in order to make a dubious — considering your heritage — genetic contribution."

Spock winced, visibly, and Pike belatedly recalled something Uhura had revealed in the midst of their fraught conversation.

"_They barely tolerated him because his mother was human," _she'd said bitterly._ "They mocked him and taunted him, as when he was kid, they even fought with him. But now he's prepared to give up everything for them. Don't misunderstand me, sir. I know why he has to do this. I just—"_

What she hadn't been able to — or hadn't allowed herself to — say was the reason he'd called Spock to his bedside. He started to apologize, to start over, but the young officer was already speaking.

"My parents received assistance from a geneticist after my conception. I am certain my father can engage the services of either the same person or those of someone similarly knowledgeable should my genes be deemed unacceptable to a potential mate," he said, his voice stiff with the indignation he couldn't quite conceal. "That aside, marriage is one area of Vulcan culture where we put aside logic to some extent. We are territorial about, and devoted to, our mates. There would be no simple way for me to 'make a donation' and then leave to continue my career."

"If you're so devoted to your mates, why aren't you with your fiancée, helping her through the difficult time she's having? And, if your mystery geneticist is so good, why can't they make sure you and Uhura have Vulcan babies?"

"Lieutenant Uhura and I have already reached the conclusion that it may be necessary to set aside our betrothal."

Christopher wasn't satisfied with the half-answer and refused to be thwarted. He'd spent enough time with Spock to recognize when his friend was avoiding telling the truth.

"Why is that?"

"If we allow the betrothal to stand, she would likely be compelled to resign her commission as well. She has desired a Starfleet career for the past fourteen years, six months and thirteen days. I did not wish to ask her to give that up."

That much was true, Christopher knew.

"_Do you want to remain in Starfleet? Or did you only enlist to be near Spock?"_

"_I've wanted this I was five. Spock followed _my_ dream."_

"_Then you'd better remember how to follow orders. Go to Africa, Lieutenant."_

But the Vulcan's reasoning wasn't good enough to excuse a excellent communications specialist left too emotionally compromised to perform her duties to the full extent her abilities. It didn't ease the permanent loss of stellar first officer.

"You haven't broken the engagement yet, have you?" he tried. They hadn't. That much he'd been able to wheedle out of the girl.

Spock looked as uncomfortable as Pike had ever seen him.

"We have not."

"Then why aren't you with her right now?" the admiral repeated.

"You ordered me to visit you, sir."

"That's not what I meant!" Christopher snapped. The challenge of matching wits with Spock had quickly lost its charm even for the convalescing — and extremely bored — former captain. He forced himself to calm down anyway. "Never mind. Answer this, Spock, why the hell did Lieutenant Uhura look as if her whole world had ended when she came to see me two days ago?"

Once she'd let go of her anger over his unexpected orders, the lieutenant had looked haggard, despondent… broken.

"_I'm an officer of Starfleet."_ But her voice had been weakened by the sorrow she was no longer attempting to hide.

The commander was quiet for so long, Pike began to wonder if he might refuse to answer.

"Nyota and my mother were extremely close," came the eventual reply.

"Exactly!" How he managed to keep smug satisfaction out of his expression was anybody's guess. "Which is why I ordered her back to Africa for a mandatory bereavement leave."

"_My father is here in San Francisco, consulting with the High Council as the Terran xenopsychiatrist most experienced in dealing with Vulcans_," she had protested.

"_I know," _Christopher had responded._ "I don't care. I also know he goes home to your mother whenever he can. When he leaves again tomorrow, you'd better be on the shuttle with him. He's expecting you."_

"She left yesterday and can't come back for at least two weeks."

The look of surprise on Spock's face confirmed what Christopher already suspected. "Have you even _seen_ her since you got back to Earth?"

"I have had many duties to attend to, both for Starfleet and for what remains of the Vulcan High Council."

Pike grimaced. "So your answer is 'no,' I take it?"

"No, sir," Spock admitted. "I have not seen her since we left the Enterprise."

"Well, in that case, I think you'd better make sure you find your way to Africa. Soon."

"Sir, I fail to see the benefit in—" Spock began to say.

With a speed that surprised even him, Pike reached behind him and grabbed his pillow.

He was gratified to see the Vulcan didn't have time to duck before his commanding officer brought it crashing down on his head.

* * *

Nyota let Benjamin Uhura enfold her in his strong arms as if she were still a little girl. She hugged back with all her strength, burying her face into his shoulder.

"I have to go back, Nyota Ndogo," he whispered, regret coloring each word. "They have need of me."

"I know," she said and pulled away, forcing a smile that didn't reach her tear-stained eyes. "I know, Baba. I'll be back myself in a week or two. Have to be there when Kirk gets his three bars."

She could Hear Baba's disbelief in the smile, and tried to reassure him. "I'm a big girl. Don't worry about me. Besides, Mama has shoulders, too."

Benjamin grabbed her for another fierce hug before turning to offer his wife the same. "You make sure she cries on them," he whispered in M'Umbha's ear.

Spock stepped forward, and placed his hands on her shoulders. The lines of his face looked more pronounced as he assessed the young Nyota Uhura standing before him, a brave face doing little to mask her anguish.

"I would like to see you again before the launch," he murmured. "Or, perhaps you will be able to visit the colony, should the Council approve of the planet I have selected.

"I would like that," she told him, and this time her smile was real.

* * *

Spock was not surprised when Benjamin Uhura approached him on the grounds of the Vulcan Embassy, parts of which closely resembled the gardens in Garissa. It was more curious that the doctor had not sought him out sooner. They had both been busy over the past forty-three days, but his ko-kugalsu's father had never before let a heavy schedule prevent him from initiating these private talks. Spock had been seeking solitude to contemplate — _again_ — Admiral Pike's order, but welcomed the older man's company, nonetheless.

"M'Umbha and I were forbidden to marry," the doctor said without preamble, "and even after we eloped, our families expected us to remain childless."

Spock turned his head study Benjamin's profile, but said nothing. This _would_ be a serious discussion, then; that much was apparent.

"We had assistance, of course," Nyota's father continued. "At the time, I didn't think of that. Neither did my wife. We were young, in love and still believed we could defy the world." He smiled at the memory of the young man he had been, but his companion detected something like old fear — possibly even regret — in the set of man's shoulders.

"We didn't question how we were able to get away with it, how the paperwork was pushed through."

Spock stopped walking when Benjamin came to an abrupt halt and faced him.

"Surely Nyota told you _some_ of what the Wakufunzi are before you were bonded."

A quiet nod was all the confirmation he required.

"Then you must know that M'Umbha's family — or mine, even — could have stopped us any time they wished. But, as I said, we had assistance. From someone more important than the Uhuras… and more powerful than the Wakufunzis.

"Without that person, it is almost certain that Nyota would never have been born. There are likely some who continue to believe she never _should_ have been, that the risk of exposure is still too great.

"But then, there was you. And she loved you and you loved her and M'Umbha and I believed we could hide behind _that_ if the need arose. Little risk of exposure if she became fully bonded to a Vulcan."

"Exposure?" Spock's left eyebrow rose, illustrating his perplexity. "You have used the word twice. What is this secret you needed to keep hidden?"

Benjamin resumed his leisurely pace. Spock clasped his wrist behind his back and followed suit.

"Have you ever wondered _why_, or _how_ the Uhuras became such efficient warriors? Or why so many of those warriors also became doctors?"

The young Vulcan's silence spurred Benjamin to continue.

"We were aided in those early endeavors, Spock," he explained somberly. "And our benefactors were welcomed into the family. They became one with us, teaching us how to fight, and, later, when only surgery and… other methods could conceal the ways in which they changed who we were, we learned to conceal that, as well."

"What are you trying to tell me?" Had he been fully human, he might have admitted that his ko-kugalsu's father was frightening him.

"Mwana, I could not love you more if you were Muta — that will not change no matter what path you choose — but some might consider your father's people and those of my many-times-great-grandfather to be enemies.

"They called themselves 'chi'Thaai Veothai,' and while they did not revere Surak, they believed many of his teachings were correct and would ultimately become necessary to the survival of their people. As you can imagine, this did not endear them to the Empire."

Spock had stilled at the Romulan words Benjamin used to name his ancestors. He searched himself for the blinding hatred he'd held for Nero, but found only curiosity in its place. "Logic's Children?" he translated.

"Yes, though we say 'Children of Reason' on the rare occasions we refer to ourselves in Standard."

Benjamin's burden was suddenly clear in Spock's mind. He did not waste time analyzing the possible implications to his betrothal bond with Nyota; Benjamin was hurting, and he had learned to admit — to himself, at least — that this man was as important to him as his own father.

"That is why Nyota speaks all of their dialects."

"Young Uhuras begin learning the language of the chi'Thaai Veothai even before they speak Standard. Because my wife is bint Wakufunzi, my children's progress was accelerated. Our Little Star's even more so than that of her siblings."

"She does not know of this, does she?"

"I have not told her," the human confessed, "If I had, I do not doubt she would have told you before your minds were first joined."

"Undoubtedly." Spock's nod was as curt as his response. Unbidden, the memory of a day spent working alongside this man in a garden in Garissa came. "Your initial medical training — it was not completed at a traditional institution, was it?" he asked.

Benjamin's eyes found his, surprise conspicuously absent. "No. I learned from Uhuras that came before me."

"And, although you said you specialized in pediatrics," Spock continued, "it would not be inaccurate to suppose your concentration was in genetics, would it?"

The older man's expression was thoughtful, his gentle face settling into its customary placidity. "It would not," he allowed.

"Baba…" Spock hesitated, still too unused to the swell of emotion he allowed to flow more freely than usual to care that he'd called the doctor "father."

He was almost certain that his newest suspicion was accurate, but was unsure how to ask the question. If Benjamin Uhura had intended to broach the subject, he would have done so already. And he would not have held on to the secret without reason. But Spock wanted to know.

"Baba," he began again. "Are you the geneticist who assisted my parents after my conception? Were the one who saved my life?"

The human's silence spoke volumes. It was not enough.

"Baba?" Spock's eyes bore into his would-be father-in-law's as the silence stretched out between them.

Resigned, Benjamin answered at last. "Yes."

As one, they turned and sat on a stone bench that was much like the ones Benjamin kept in his own gardens.

"And now that you know?" Benjamin shifted uncomfortably. Spock had never before seen his ko-kugalsu's father so ill-at-ease. "Will she know through your bond?"

"It is her right to know this," the Vulcan pointed out. "It is her heritage. But the bond is… cloaked, and she will not know unless I tell her. And I will not do so unless you wish me to."

His movements slow and less precise than was customary, Benjamin stood and began walking down the path again.

"She should know," he conceded. "It is her right — Upenda and Muta are already aware of their history, and their genes are more easily explained than hers. She should know. And perhaps she already does." He did not explain his allusion and Spock chose not to question it. "Whether you or I tell her…," Benjamin went on, "I leave that choice to you, mwana."

"I am going to Garissa in three days," said Spock.

* * *

Her personal comm chimed when she was alone in the little room that had been hers since she was tiny. She lay on her bed as she had each night since her return, trying in vain to banish memories made during her last visit. The prospect of speaking to someone, anyone, who didn't tiptoe around her was a welcome one.

"Uhura here," she said even before the image on the screen cleared.

"Greetings, ko-fu," said Sarek.

"You should not call me that, Sa-mekh," she told him, proud that her voice remained steady. "His first duty is to your people."

Sarek could not agree. "A Vulcan's first duty is to his family."

* * *

Spock waited two days after meeting himself in a Starfleet hangar before seeking out his father. _"I urge you to remain in Starfleet,"_ the elderly half-human had recommended.

"_Put aside logic. Do what feels right."_ The advice of his elder self required reflection and meditation. Duty and desire both felt right.

"_You will always be a child of two worlds."_ His father's only served to enhance his dilemma.

"_I could not love you more than if you were Muta — that will not change no matter what path you choose."_ Benjamin Uhura had given him permission to seek his own destiny.

"_See? We're getting to know each other!"_ The other Spock had predicted he and Kirk could someday share "_a friendship that would define you both in ways you cannot yet realize_" and the young captain-to-be seemed to believe this was possible, that they needed one another.

He found Sarek in one of the temporary quarters the Federation had granted the surviving members of the Vulcan High Council.

"Come in, sa-fu," his father said as soon as the door slid open. "Please. Sit." He indicated two chairs set across from each other.

"Spock, you are no longer a child I can mold into following the path I chose for you," he continued before Spock spoke. "Although I told you that you must choose your own, the truth is, I influenced you to go where I wished you to go, to embrace that which I wished for you to embrace. And in all things, save one, you did as I asked.

"I knew, from the first time I met her, that Nyota Uhura was devoted to you. Although her youth and… another thing prevented me from approving of her as a mate, long before either of you knew it, in what humans would call 'her heart,' she was already your ko-kugalsu. Those days on your ship — after we lost our home and your mother — I saw that she was strong enough for that role."

Visions of Sarek on the bridge, so often standing at Nyota's side, flashed through Spock's mind. He didn't know what to say.

"You are not needed on the colony, sa-fu, although you are welcome. Your Nyota needs you — and, perhaps, your Starfleet does, as well. Perhaps it does not. If you choose to join to our people, if you decide that your path lies with helping us, you will do little good if you come to us without your heart and your soul intact. Do not leave half of it behind you."

"That 'other thing' no longer matters?" Spock wanted to know. "You can accept what she is?"

* * *

He had not meant to wake her, but she stirred as he closed the french doors leading from the verandah to the small sleeping chamber they'd once shared.

"What are you doing here?" Nyota asked, her voice still slurred with sleep. He watched as she sat up, peering at him through the darkness.

"I believe I have something that belongs to you," he whispered.

Kneeling at the end of the bed, Spock took her cool foot in one hand. Slipping the other into his pocket, he pulled out the short platinum chain whose Vulcan script spelled out S'chn T'gai El'es Khio'ri. Slipping it around her ankle, he fastened peridot star-shaped clasp and centered the vesuvianite apple.

* * *

**A/N**: That's all folks.

Disclaimer: I still don't own the characters


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